Ephemeral
by scntlla
Summary: Most of the time, they all just hated him. But the precious moments they got in between that hatred were special, and they couldn't deny it no matter how much they wanted to. (Kokichi-centric interactions with the other characters!)
1. Miu, Gonta, Angie

**_This chapter was originally written early 2018. It has been edited as of October 18th, 2018. The author's notes are still written in their original format, however._**

 _Note : Okay, so this will be a series of interactions that Kokichi has with the other students of NDRV3. They can be seen as romantic, platonic, friendly, etc. I try to keep a neutral standpoint with ships but if there are implications in chapters, you can do with those what you will!_

 _Each different interaction will have a different "point in time" depending on the character...there are mild spoilers, but nothing huge like the game's entire plot, chapter six, pre-game, etc. Additionally, you can assume these interactions happen in the same universe, different universes, whatever floats your boat! I say this because Kokichi's character will undoubtedly start changing if he was the social butterfly like these chapters may sometimes make him to be..._

 _There will be three characters showcased per chapter, as you can see here. This will total up to five chapters since there are 15 other students besides Kokichi Ouma. So now, a few notes on the specific sections in this chapter:_

MIU IRUMA: this interaction takes place before the death/investigation of chapter four. it is based off of the flashbacks in chapter five where Kokichi explains where he got the electrobombs and such.

GONTA GOKUHARA: this interaction can take place anytime after the events of chapter two!

ANGIE YONAGA: this interaction takes place during chapter three, _before_ the death/investigation of that chapter.

* * *

 **Miu Iruma**

* * *

Miu is too hungry, too sleepy, too _anything_ to be doing much right now. But even so, she wants to work on her projects. So she heads back into her lab, hoping that no one kills her as she does so (because really, she's in here, like, _all the time_ ) and that she can just sit down at her work table without incident.

It was too hopeful of a wish. When she gets into her lab, someone is already there before her. Normally Kiibo would drop by for some maintenance or something, so that wouldn't have been too unusual. And although she doesn't like him that much, Shuuichi's presence would have been welcome, too.

Instead, it happens to be her _least favorite_ person in this school, right next to Monokuma himself. Just seeing the gleam of the color purple is enough to send her into a frenzy. She channels her irritable energy from being too everything-at-once, and yells at him. "Hey, dumbass! Who gave you permission to be in here?" Miu's eyes narrow down to angry slants, and she stomps her way over to him. "Get the fuck out!"

"Don't be so stupid, you floozy," Kokichi returns equally bitter words in her direction. "Just because it's your lab doesn't mean I can't be here. These are _public_ places, y'know."

"Well, I don't want you here, anyway! So who cares about the rules? This lab is fucking mine, I get to decide who goes in and who d-doesn't..." her tone has softened from the initial biting anger, and she blames her hunger, fatigue, and everything else that stops her from going all out. It doesn't help that his words are acidic enough to burn her, and that he is just as—if not more so—clever as she is. With all these factors in mind, Miu feels like this situation would fall out of her hands quickly enough.

As such, she tries to reassert her authority in every way possible. _This is_ your _lab,_ Miu thinks to herself. _And that fuckin' loser is the_ last _person that gets to be here. Show him what's up._

"You say that, but I've seen that dumb robot come in and out like he pleases." A thoughtful pause ensues on Kokichi's end. Then his face morphs into a wicked smirk, the sheer mania emanating like radioactive waves off his body. " _Oooh,_ is that how it is, Iruma-chan? You'll only let people that sexually exploit you enter your lab?"

"T-That's not it!" she blushes, but the thought of what he just said isn't too unappealing, in all honesty. In fact, she thinks a bit too _hard_ about it, and unintentionally drools. He scowls at the sight of it.

"That's _definitely_ it, judging by your reaction. Are you _sure_ that you're the Ultimate Inventor? How come you're not the Ultimate Prostitute, instead?" He tilts his head in genuine confusion, the very notion of which mocks her to the core. "You're probably way better at breaking mattresses than you are at building stuff."

"Y-You're so mean," she finally whimpers, closing in on herself. It isn't the first time he has verbally tore her to shreds, but it's somehow different from before. _This one hurts, a lot._ "Y'know, I-I usually tolerate you when you say such awful stuff to me, b-but when it comes to my talent, that's—that's my pride! It's my everything! S-So, I don't need you or your approval of what I do to get in the way, Cockichi."

"Oh? Even if that's the case, I'm sure you're devastated by what I just said. Which was all the _truth,_ by the way!"

"...Ugh!" She groans, and turns her back on him. Doing such a thing is dangerous, she knows (' _cause maybe he'll actually kill me now that my back is turned)_ but it hurts less when she doesn't have to be face-to-face with him. Miu might be ill-suited for her talent, but Kokichi certainly isn't. The Ultimate Supreme Leader knows how to craft words that build people up and break them down in the same vein. He speaks truths, shouts praises, and hisses cruelty all in the same breath. He's the best of the best at being a _liar_ and a _deceiver_ all at once, none of which should have surprised Miu in the least.

But it pains her all the same.

 _Maybe he's right,_ a small voice in Miu's mind echoes to her. _Maybe I should just give up—_

"That's a lie, also. Have some pride in yourself, will you?" His voice is sudden, but sincere. She turns on her heels, and sees that he's waving a disappointed finger in her direction. It's not the first time that she's been struck dumb by his forcefulness, but it's certainly the most _memorable_ time. Her icy eyes widen, and fill up with a strange warmth. Then, her brilliant mind speaks to itself in a single, succinct matter.

 _What?_

He rolls his eyes. "Guess I'll have to explain it, huh? You know our fights are only fun if you put your best into it! You should've said something back to me, like, ' _at least my talent is helping us survive, what's your talent good for in a situation like the killing game?'_ or ' _hey, people actually come to me for help! What does that say about you?'_ followed by one of your _stupid_ nicknames for me. Like, come _on,_ Iruma-chan!"

" _What_?" Shocked by the drastic change in tone, she blinks to make sure that the Kokichi she sees in front of her is the real one, and not a hallucination caused by too little sleep across too many nights. "What did you say?"

"Oh, so in addition to being _stupid,_ you're also deaf." He smiles, and she's not sure if she should trust that smile because she knows the uncertainty of the person behind it. In fact, she's not sure of _anything_ right now, but he continues in spite of her. "I said I was _lying._ Don't you know that I'm a liar?"

"I know _that,_ " she insists, placing one of her hands on her hips. "But even then, why go so far for a lie? That was fuckin' uncalled for!"

"If you're so _maaad_ about it, then how about proving me wrong?" he asks this teasingly, but there's something in his eyes that offsets the negativity of it all. Before she can even begin to decipher it, he reaches into his back pocket, and pulls out a small journal.

Stepping closer to Miu, Kokichi flips through the pages until he finds the one he wants. Then he takes out a pencil from behind his ear, and points to it. "Think you could come up with something like this?"

Miu's curiosity takes over before anything else, and she glances at the sheet. It's a rudimentary design compared to anything she can come up with, but it's not bad at all. From the gist of it, it seems like Kokichi wants her to make some sort of device that would terminate nearby electrical signals—something that would stop a machine in its tracks entirely. Strange, but not unheard of. She quirks a brow at him.

"What the hell do you need this for?"

"For the Exisals, obviously. What, is it too hard for someone like you to do?"

She can't see through his ruse, and she doesn't know that he's annoying her on purpose, but none of that matters. It's like he said, how she had to have some _pride_ in her work. He wants an invention? He'll get an invention! She'll show him what it means to be an Ultimate Inventor, and make him eat his words! This resolve flooded her head like water, and her face lifts into a confident smirk.

"Nothing's too hard for _me!_ I'm the Ultimate Inventor, after all! Stuff like this is nothing more than foreplay." She lifts her head up, and makes sure to look down at him with the most pride she can muster. But it's all for show, because she speaks with a neutral tone afterward. "But what's in it for me?"

"Everything, obviously." He doesn't back down either, because his eyes are as determined as hers. "What's in it for you is your reputation, your credibility, any last shreds of respect I have for you…"

"Bullshit," she snaps. "You've never respected me!"

"If I didn't respect you to _some_ degree, would I be asking you for a favor right now? Why don't you pay attention to _anything_ I say? Come on, Iruma-chan, you can't just be thinking about getting laid all the time!" He points this out to her, sounding accusatory but mostly just annoyed. She huffs.

"Just spare me your horseshit already! How can I think about getting laid if _you're_ here? As long as _you're_ in the vicinity, then I'm just, like, _instantly turned off._ " She's not even joking in the slightest, as the warmth and tingles she felt from his scathing remarks earlier have faded by now. She burns this honesty from her sky-blue eyes to his bruise-violet ones.

The bruise contracts as he blinks. "Oh, please. Just 'cause I'm not your _type_ doesn't mean I'm a turn-off!" Kokichi enunciates his words carefully, because he wants her to fall for his bait.

And she does. "My _type?_ And how would you know what my type _is?_ "

"Seriously? I know you and Kiiboy do some 'maintenance'—" he curls his fingers into air quotes, and chortles at her angry stare— "in here. I'll also never forget that time where you walked around half-naked for Gonta's sake and nothing more. Your _type,_ " he decides, "is the _submissive_ type."

She blushes. "H-Hey, that's not—"

"But it's too bad. You _could_ have been fun to play with, if you didn't have, like, ten STDs and zero personality." He inspects his fingernails, making sure to shoot her an indifferent glance when she sputters at his offhand comments. "Anyway, how long are you gonna just stand there, doing nothing? Are you _waiting_ for someone to get killed before you start working on the stuff I asked you to?"

"Shut up, you limp-dicked virgin! Like I said, there's nothing I can't do! I'll have your dumb shit ready for you in no time!" Her usual fire ignites, and he doesn't seem too offended by it this time. She feels a sense of relief in seeing that, but then quickly denies it. _What the fuck, Miu,_ she wonders to herself. _Since when the fuck do you care about his feelings?_

" _That's_ what I like to hear," he chirps, lips curling into a wondrously glee smile. It's like the animosity he had towards her was never there to begin with. Miu feels dizzy thinking about how quickly he can change face. "Then, I'll leave you to it, _Ultimate Inventor."_ He spins on a dime, arms outstretched in the most childish way, and he leaves the lab just as soon as he might have entered it.

Before Miu realizes it, Kokichi is gone and everything is quiet. It's just like him to cause a scene as quickly as he leaves it, though. She sighs to herself, and heads back to her workbench to get started on his request.

"Oh?" She sees something that was not there previously. There, bundled on her desk, is _food._ Or the semblance of food, but based on the wrappers, it's definitely food. It looks like someone's lunch that never got eaten. It has rice and some hotpot from today's lunch that she had forgot to attend, as well as a water bottle and— _score!—_ some of that sukiyaki caramel she likes.

"D-Did Kokichi leave this here? Is that why he was here beforehand?" she asks herself, looking towards the exit like he might jump out at any second. He doesn't, thankfully, and she looks back down at the items before her. "There's no way he would've done this. He's awful and he doesn't even know that I love this kind of stuff...well, the caramel, anyway…"

She picks at the wrappers, and starts taking a bite. Another possibility comes across her mind. "Maybe Kiibo really did leave it here...as thanks for the maintenance earlier?" Shaking her head, she dismisses how the food might have suddenly appeared, deciding that isn't nearly as important as eating the actual food itself. She has been quite starved lately, forgetting to properly eat and sleep when she's so busy with her work.

So while she may never admit it, she appreciates this little gesture done by whoever-it-was. She enjoys it so much that when she's done, she starts working on the next project right away with newfound energy.

"So that ugly bastard needs this done, huh? Better crank it out so I can get to stuff that _really_ matters!"

The lab becomes quiet again, with only the sound of pencils scratching and metal bending to be heard throughout.

* * *

 **Gonta Gokuhara**

* * *

"Ouma-kun, you really don't like bugs?" Gonta asks in a defeated tone. For a big guy, he sure gets disheartened easily. This is what Kokichi thinks as he sighs.

"Gonta, I told you this already. I was _lying_ about liking bugs before. It was an excuse to get to the motive videos, remember? Don't tell me you already forgot!"

"Gonta is pretty forgetful sometimes," he admits, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. "But why would you lie about bugs, Ouma-kun?"

 _He's asking me why I lie,_ something inside Kokichi thinks. _Should I tell him the long, itemized list of reasons why I lie? And should I give him the alphabetical list or the chronological one? Actually, scratch all that, there's no need to get so complicated._ "Because they're _gross_ , and you really like insects, and I didn't want to disappoint you or whatever." Violet eyes flicker back and forth between Gonta, his insect cage, and the green grass below them all. "Also, weren't you the one that said you couldn't find any bugs in this place? So why bother about them?"

"It's true that Gonta couldn't find any bugs before, but that makes Gonta want to try even harder to look for them!" his eyes light up, and he smiles down at Kokichi. "You understand, don't you?"

"Sadly, I do." He sighs again, making sure to drag out the impossible length of the noise as much as he can. Then he concedes. "And by the sound of it, you _really_ want me to help you."

"Gonta really does! He appreciates all the help he can get! But if Ouma-kun needs something, then Gonta will not hesitate to carry out a favor for him. It's only the right thing to do." Gonta's face right now is too good, too pure, and too _wonderful_ for the likes of Ouma. But the promise of getting another free favor from the other is too sweet to give up, and Ouma knows that having help from someone as forgetful and slow as Gonta would only help him in terms of keeping his intentions a secret.

Kokichi smiles, softly this time. "O~kay, but a promise is a promise! Don't forget that!"

Gonta nods his head vigorously, then matches Kokichi's grin for his own. "Of course! Gonta forgets unimportant things from time to time—and maybe some important things after that—but he never forgets a promise!"

.

.

Kokichi is never going to admit it, but sometimes he _likes_ hanging out with Gonta—either that or he _dislikes_ hanging out with other people more than he does with the Ultimate Entomologist. The guy is so easy-going and so gullible that the situation can _never_ be in his favor, so Kokichi can naturally (and _rightfully_ , in his mind) take the lead. Even if he was the one that needed to be convinced at first, he ends up being the one charging ahead and laying out bait for the bugs.

The two of them set up traps in likely places for insects to appear. Gonta, being much taller than Kokichi, easily puts them in the high branches of trees, atop tall fixtures, and in the rafters of the hallways outside. Kokichi, therefore, finds his place in the tough-to-find spots, and in little crevices where no one else except for him ( _and Yumeno-chan and Hoshi-chan,_ he thinks amusedly _)_ could have fit. Then he crawls out each time, clapping the dirt off his clothes, only to be greeted by the smiling Gonta.

That smile is the perpetrator of the truth—a truth which is the fact that Kokichi really _does_ appreciate moments like these where he can just mindlessly hang out with Gonta. Since he's so sincere, naive, and kind, he never bothers insulting Kokichi for his lies, or overreacting to the bitter truth whenever it comes out of Ouma's mouth.

For that reason and that reason alone, he makes quite the companion.

"Did you bait this one already?" Kokichi points to a tiny space beneath one of the courtyard benches, where there is a sizeable dip in the ground that insects—should they appear, anyway—would most likely be.

"Not yet," Gonta answers. "The space is far too small for Gonta. Ouma-kun, can you maybe…?"

"Yeah, I got it~" he agrees, and gets down on his knees to crawl under the bench. Although it should have made him feel more self-conscious about his height and size, moments like these actually made him feel better about himself somehow. He can do things that bigger, _stronger_ people can't do as easily.

Kokichi places the bait (which is just some sort of food, actually. He asked Gonta if this was a waste of resources but then Gonta brought up the fact that the kitchen and pantry never seem to run out of food, and Kokichi agreed with his statements) inside of the hole. As he retracts his hand, he miscalculates the exact location of all the jagged pieces of stone, and accidentally cuts himself on their edges.

"Ow!" He yells out with genuine surprise, and tries not to jerk his body, but ultimately gives into the urge. His head bangs against the bottom of the bench instantly, and his voice escapes in pained groans.

"Ouma-kun!" Gonta calls out, and gets down on his knees to try and see under the bench. He's much too big to see properly, though. "Are you okay?"

"Just fine," he mutters, and tries to squeeze his way back out from under the bench without further incident. This time, he succeeds, and when he has more freedom to move around, he jumps up to his feet. Then he rubs his hand at the back of his head gingerly, hiding the scowl that wants to form on his face because he's hurt.

Gonta doesn't quite see through this, but he's so worried about the pain Kokichi just went through that he doesn't care. "Gonta is sorry! He should have baited the spot himself so Ouma-kun wouldn't get hurt! So _you_ wouldn't get hurt!"

"It's alright, sheesh. It's not like I _died."_ He blinks once, twice, then asks in a funny voice: "Although if I _did_ die, would you be the blackened or would it be me? Would it count as a suicide since I volunteered to do it?"

"O-Ouma-kun!"

"Aw, but I was just kidding," he jokes in an obviously half-hearted voice. But that's good enough for Gonta, because his worries have migrated elsewhere. Ruby red eyes scan over Kokichi (which doesn't take long, there's not much to look at in terms of bodily real estate) then widen.

Gonta gently reaches outward, and grabs the hand Kokichi used for placing the bait. His hands are as Kokichi expected them to be: rough, calloused, hammy like no other. But his touch is as gentle and cautious as someone's hand can be. Distantly, Kokichi thinks that Gonta's fingertips feel like the flighty wings of a moth, or the tentative legs of an ant.

Then he wonders if he hit his _head,_ instead, to be thinking of weird things like that.

The other brings him back to reality, though, as he inspects Kokichi's hand carefully. There is a medium-sized cut running alongside it, and blood leaks out methodically, in practiced drops—almost as if it was a self-inflicted wound, instead. The thought of the injury (and what it might have looked like if it really _were_ self-inflicted) becomes too much for him to bear.

Gonta's heart drops as his voice rises. "Oh no, blood!"

"It's nothing," Kokichi insists, slowly pulling his hand back to his side with Gonta's reluctant permission. "Seriously, don't freak out over everything! Especially this, it's just a _little_ blood! What if there was a body announcement right now? You might just faint!"

"Gonta has a bandage for this," Gonta says, ignoring all of Kokichi's japes. He takes out some from his pocket, and reaches for the injured hand again. Only this time, Kokichi really _does_ pull away, and even goes as far as to move an entire step _back_ from Gonta. The latter looks hurt—but not necessarily offended by—the former's action.

He is silent for a moment before speaking. "Why did you pull away from Gonta?"

"Because it's fine, like I said. And besides, you don't have disinfectant so even if you wrap it up, it might still get infected anyway." _That has definitely got to be one of my worst lies yet_ , he thinks to himself, _thank God he's so dumb, otherwise, he might not—_

"Well, lucky us, because the bandages already have medicine on them! Gonta forgot until now, but Angie-san told me to medicate the gauze! Gonta helped her with a sprained wrist from painting, you see, so he took her advice willingly."

"You went through all that to slap on some ointment on these things?"

"Yes! So, please, Ouma-kun, don't worry too much about the infection. It most likely won't happen."

"Ugh, this is really too much. You're too soft, Gonta," Kokichi says this, but he finally allows the him to grab his hand once more. Although he finds this whole situation to be fussy, and awkward even, he knows it's better to accept the help rather than refuse it, because an infection might _actually_ kill him, and that's the last thing he wants right now, despite implicating otherwise.

He is totally still as Gonta works with the bandage. Surprisingly enough, he does a decent job of dressing it up. Thinking back to the rough contact he had with Gonta's hands the first time, Kokichi feared that the other's hands are too clumsy, too big, and too inexperienced for delicate work like wrapping bandages. But he's proven wrong as Gonta's hands are firm— _knowing,_ even—as they loop the bandage over itself, and securely fasten it with tape.

When he is all done, Kokichi inspects his work, and smiles at the sight of a clean, bloodless limb. Then he gives a thumbs up with the same hand that he got hurt with. "Hey, not so bad, Gonta! I always prefer not being injured to being injured! I guess I really can't kill ya now, huh?"

"Gonta really wishes that you wouldn't joke about killing like that," his smile falters, but returns at the thought of a nice recovery from what just happened. "Still, Gonta is happy that Ouma-kun is no longer hurt."

"And that's the part of all this that I just I don't get," Kokichi says. "You _do_ know that was your big chance to kill me, right? I was vulnerable for a _second,_ but even when I'm not, you could totally just slit my throat or something." He runs a finger across his neck, and sticks out his tongue pretending to be dead. Gonta flinches, and Kokichi apologizes in his own way by ceasing the act.

He doesn't relent, though. "No, seriously, Gonta. Why bother helping me? I know I agreed to help you set up insect traps, but that's because you promised me a favor beforehand. Otherwise, I'm pretty awful, y'know? It'd probably be better for you and everyone else if I was dead."

"..." Gonta thinks about this, and his gaze moves skyward as if the answer lied with the stars above. After a moment or so, he returns to reality, and nods at Kokichi with a newfound resolution in his voice.

"Ouma-kun lies a lot, Gonta knows this. Ouma-kun says hurtful things sometimes. Gonta also knows this! But even so, Gonta likes Ouma-kun!" A cheesy smile appears on his face, and he continues preaching with the same sincerity. "Gonta doesn't think that anyone deserves to die. Especially not his friends! So, he will protect everyone, and that includes you, Ouma-kun."

A fuzzy feeling manifests in his chest, like cotton stuffing inside of a stuffed bear. Kokichi doesn't know what it is ( _oh yes, he does)_ so he just ignores it. Of course, the pure naivety and goodwill radiating from Gonta is nothing short of unbelievable. If anything, he sounds like Kaito a bit, with that hunky-dory "friends are my power" gibe and whatnot. Yet somehow, when Gonta says things like that, it doesn't sound as bad or corny.

It almost sounds like it could be true.

Kokichi knows better than to get his hopes up, however. After all, the mastermind could be Gonta ( _unlikely,_ he thinks assuredly) or at the very least, Gonta is _close_ to the mastermind, which could spell the end for Kokichi if he lets them know what was really going on with him. So he denies his act of stupid purity for now, although he spares Gonta the smallest of signals to let him know that he appreciates the thought.

That sign comes in the form of a tiny smile. If Gonta were Shuuichi, he might have seen what lies behind the grin. He might have seen the small shrivel of honesty in Kokichi's eyes, or a new, springy step in his every movement. But Gonta _wasn't_ Shuuichi, so he couldn't have picked up on the nearly invisible signs.

Kokichi sends them out, nonetheless.

"That's a dangerous way of thinking, Gonta-kun. But that's _so_ you, when I think about it. So I guess I'll let it slide this time," Kokichi says coolly, throwing his arms back and putting his hands behind his head. His smile still lingers. "Aaaand we're all done with the baiting now, right?"

"Yes, we're quite done! Gonta is thankful, because he could have never done it all by himself."

"Good, good." Quickly, the smile fades into smirk territory, and Kokichi relishes the momentary worry that slides across Gonta's face as he speaks. "So, about that _favor_ you promised me…"

* * *

 **Angie Yonaga**

* * *

"Hey, Kokichi!" Angie calls. He turns around, and gives her a curious look as she bounds her way over to him. The spring in her step is alive and well, and her sun-colored jacket flies out like wings behind her back. Combined with that wide, innocent smile of hers, Kokichi knows one thing for sure.

 _He's in trouble._

"Angie-chan," he greets her. "What's up?"

"Before that, I will ask you something. Are you busy right now?"

"Yes," he says quickly, not even lying this time. He's always busy, because he has to think three steps ahead of everyone else at all times. He's always busy, because he has to write and plan and plot and do _everything he can_ to stay alive in this game. He's always busy, because his truths and lies have to get sorted out so he can make some sense of this game, of this life, and of this _world._

"Yes," he repeats himself, masking the momentary madness that's going on in his head. "I'm busy."

"Oooh," Angie's face falls, but not into a frown like it should have. It drops into a neutral expression, one full of thought and wonder. Then it comes alive with a tranquil but _maniacal_ happiness that only someone as eccentric as the Ultimate Artist is capable of doing."Well, who even _cares_ about what you're busy with? I'm taking you with me, anyway!"

"What are you—"

"Let's go!" she doesn't give him time to think, and pulls him along by his wrist. Since she is the same height as him, Kokichi figures her to be equally strong and not at all hard to pull away from. But when his protests are met with only an iron-tight grip, he realizes that she's not the same strength as him at all.

She's _way_ stronger.

.

.

Minutes later, Kokichi still wonders what Angie plans to do with him. Not that any of her plans will come into fruition easily, because he's not letting her get her way once she lets go of him, but the idea itself is interesting enough. Also, she has never approached him on her own like this—in fact, he's sure that she hasn't approached _anyone_ on her own like this, because she floats on her own so freely, too strange and distant for anyone to _truly_ understand. The only exceptions to this were the members of the student council, who were less like fellow members of a committee and more like tools to her disposal. So it seems as if she only approaches people when they have a use for her.

Maybe they have something in common, after all.

"Can you at least tell me where we're going?" Kokichi asks, choosing his words carefully so she might actually answer them. He doesn't know her that well, and therefore can't gauge how much joking he can do with her or not. Not that this would deter him from messing around with her at _all,_ but it's the thought that counts.

Of course, her league of idiot council members also pose as a semi-large threat. So there's that, too.

"Guess!" Angie replies cheerfully. "Guess where we're going, Kokichi!"

"Your lab," he answers casually, "since it just opened not too long ago."

"Wow, you guessed correctly! God must have told you the answer, huh?"

"God didn't—"

"Even so, you would have figured it out now that we're up here!" She pauses in front of the main door to the Ultimate Artist Lab, which is a lock-and-key door with multiple paint splatters on it. Hers is the only lab with locks on it, although the accessibility should have been as open as all the others.

Of course, ever since she started the war with her wacky student council (even going as far as to convert them temporarily to her religion, sometimes referring to God as her island-named "Atua"), going in and out of the room freely has been out of the question. Eyes stop outwardly pondering this and flicker back to her image, which is mostly hidden from Kokichi's view as she faces away from him. And she does this so easily, too, like the thought of him killing her in this moment isn't a worry of hers.

Strange.

"Open says me!" Angie yells out, and turns the knob on her lab door. Kokichi doesn't bring up the fact that he can _definitely_ unlock it whenever he wants to. "Come on, then!" she pulls him along again, unrelenting in her grasp.

"Angie-chan, do you always kidnap people and bring them here? Or am I special?" he is half-joking, but mostly he wants to start testing how thick her skin is. The initial caution from before still holds, though, so he keeps his smirk down to a minimum.

She doesn't seem to mind, though, and just laughs at his words. "Nyahaha! I didn't kidnap you, silly! I brought you along with me!"

"Yeah, against my _will,_ " he points out. "Can't you feel my squirming? I've been trying to break free this whole time."

"Oh, Kokichi must be really weak because I didn't feel anything." Angie says this with actual honesty, her voice surprisingly free of malice. Even though her carefree attitude isn't anything new, it still fascinates Kokichi whenever it appears. He puts a finger to his mouth out of thought.

"Eeeh? Angie-chan's the one that's too _strong_ , I've been thrashing around like a fish out of water over here! But anyway, are you gonna let me go now or what?"

"Yes, I'll let you go, but I want you to see something before you leave." Her voice is too earnest for his liking, but she makes good on her promise by releasing his wrist. While he has every right to leave now, he decides to stay and see what the big deal is. _What did I get dragged all this way for, anyway?_

"Is it a painting? Because I _hate_ art." He points at her accusingly, hoping his words stick to her.

They don't. "Well, even so, I'm still gonna show you it!"

"I was just _lying,_ Angie-chan," he tells her, even though she probably knows this. "But wow, you really do whatever you want, don't you?"

"It's all according to God's will," she assures him, but a mischievous smile on her face says otherwise.

He pokes fun at her religion for a bit. "Whose God are you referring to, Angie-chan? Certainly not _mine,_ " he gasps dramatically, placing a hand on his chest as if offended. "Just kidding, I don't believe in God any more than I believe in Monokuma."

"God can be anything, depending if you want to believe in Him or not," she says simply. "I call him 'God' by simplicity, but back on my island, we worshipped a being known as _Atua._ They are synonymous, and everything is God's— _Atua's—_ will."

"Okay, okay. I was just curious~" he says, all in good faith. "Seriously, though, what's going on?"

"I'm going to show you something, and it's under this sheet. Are you ready for it?" Her steely blue eyes are warm, now, and she hums while taking careful steps away from him. Angie's long, golden jacket flutters out behind her, and brushes against Kokichi's fingers as she walks.

It's soft.

He smiles, and follows after her. "Yup, show me what you got."

Angie nods, and grabs the white sheet hiding her work. Then she does a quick count of "one-two-three!" under her breath, and pulls it off. Even so, it takes a few seconds for Kokichi to be able to see anything, and when he does it's nothing like he expects it to be.

It is a painting of _him._ Kokichi Ouma, the Ultimate Supreme Leader, stares at a painting done in his honor. Although it is paint, the only thing that gives that away are the obvious brush strokes on the canvas. Otherwise, it looks like he is staring at a large, superimposed image of himself in the mirror. The details are startlingly accurate, as Angie even managed to get the shine on the chain link that sticks out from under his scarf! This is in addition to the shadows cast by his bangs landing on his face, and the correct color order of the buttons on his shirt.

Yet, the way his painted smile is so _empty_ yet so full at the same time makes him want to break the canvas to pieces. He resists the urge.

For once, he's shocked. Of course, Kokichi loves it when people pay tribute to him, but he never once expected the Ultimate Artist to do such a thing! He looks to her with a starry-eyed expression and widening smile. "Wow, you did this for me? I didn't even have to threaten your life or anything!"

"Oh, so you like it? I mostly struggled with your hair color, y'know. Because even now, I can't really tell if it's purple, black, a mix of both, or black with the ends being purple. It also doesn't help that the lighting always changes and stuff~" she shrugs, but quite clearly pleased by the praise given to her just now.

"Nishishi! It's an enigma, like me!" Kokichi says only that on the matter of his hair, because honestly, he couldn't care less about maintaining it. But he returns his attention to the painting, looking between the creation and its creator. He blinks at her with obvious curiosity, hoping to draw her into his questions with the same feeling.

"So, are you obsessed with me or something, Angie-chan?"

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"I mean, we don't know each other that well but you still painted a picture of me. Of course it's an _awesome_ picture, but I'm just confused about it."

"What's so confusing about it? My muse is ever-changing, even if my heart belongs to God." She taps one of her dry paint brushes against her face, and stares off to the side with a dreamy look in her eyes. "You were great inspiration, actually."

"And when exactly did you get inspired by me? Was it in the dining hall where I totally declared the 'student council versus everyone else' war? Or do you have, like, a super-awesome memory that you can just paint people's exact image with?"

"Hmm," she wonders aloud, twirling the brush in her fingers, now. Her hands never seem to rest, even when she's not painting. Is that the restlessness of an artist, let alone an Ultimate? "I want to tell you, but you're Kokichi, you know? It's a bit personal, and you've been at odds with the members of my council, soooo needless to say, I'm a bit angry at you, too."

"Oh, so you _do_ realize what's going on around you!" he sounds genuinely surprised by this, and smiles at the tiniest hint of annoyance that appears on Angie's almost incorrigible face. "Here I was, thinking you were just some airheaded devotee with her head in the clouds...but that's all wrong, isn't it? You're actually _really_ clever, Angie-chan. Getting those guys to be on your student council and whatnot, that takes some _massive_ manipulation on your part."

"I am just an extension of God's will, and God wants peace for the academy and those that live here." She has said this to him before, but it sounds different somehow. He thinks hard about why that is, while she continues speaking regardless of him. "The members of the student council agree with God's teachings, and so they get along with me just great! It works out for everyone!"

"But you've been basically ordering them around like your servants," he reminds her. "And despite being a 'council' they haven't had any say on any of the matters you brought up before. I'm pretty sure they're just blindly agreeing with you." Kokichi frowns, and starts welling up fake tears. "And you just _ignore_ them anyway, g-going off a-and d-doing your own t-thing! Waaaaah, you're so mean to them, Angie-chaaaaan!"

He wants the obvious fake crying to dispel any actual anger that might surface from her skin, but it doesn't work as well as he wants it to. Even though Angie smiles brightly at him, her eyes are wearing a dark expression and he feels like he might freeze from staring at the ice-blue for too long. But he stands his ground, anyway.

Angie spares him a laugh. It does nothing to warm the chills that crawl up his spine."They do as they please, and all that. Kind of like you, right? You're almost alike, so something tells me that you'll understand. Yes, God and Atua and the universe itself tells me that you're just _dying_ to know how I got your image down so perfectly."

She speaks the truth, but he would never admit it. He simply gives her a dismissive wave of hand. "I mean, you looked at a picture of me, right? C'mon, it's not difficult to understand."

"Nyahaha! That's totally wrong!" she winks at him, and moves her brush in the air like it was on canvas, instead. "Actually, I had a _dream_ about you, Kokichi!"

"Aw, you're flattering me~ I never knew you fantasized about me this way, Angie-chan!"

"I don't normally dream about things like this, so I actually considered it a _nightmare_ when it happened!" She giggles wickedly at her own wit, but also at the fake pout that crosses Kokichi's countenance. "No, but I really _did_ dream about you. And in my dream, you were really vivid...so when I woke up, I came straight here to paint what I saw in that dream."

Angie walks towards the canvas, and lets her fingers run down the sides of its frame. There's something wistful in her eyes, and her white hair makes the image of a _halo_ appear in his mind's eye. He blinks the image away as she speaks nostalgically. "I'll never forget what you said to me, either."

He can't think of anything satisfying to retort with, so he simply sticks to the truth of his curiosity. "What did I say?"

She lowers her arms which had been moving in various ways just now, and keeps them still at her side. Then she lowers her head, as if in prayer, only to bring her hands clasped against her chest. Angie's eyes flutter in Kokichi's direction, and she speaks in a rich, heavenly voice that _doesn't quite sound like her_ yet _sounds completely like her_ all at once _._

Ouma vaguely wonders if she's somehow managed to brainwash him, too, when he wasn't paying attention. Has he been lost the moment he stepped inside the domain? Perhaps she charmed him when she first grabbed his hand. Maybe Kiibo sent out brainwashing waves from faraway. When he steps outside, will he be able to go back to his room, or will the trap finally spring up on him? He wonders about all of this because Angie's voice is silkier than it should be, and she recites the syllables in such a way that they leave tiny shivers that climb up his back with every syllable she speaks.

"' _I'm afraid I see through you, Angie-chan. You don't fool me anymore. You claim to love colors, but even so you are completely_ _ **transparent.**_

 _And for someone that is so sure a God guides her hand, you seem so uncertain._

 _Hey, Angie-chan? Is it possible that you're really lonely?_

 _Hmm? How do I know this? Well, it's obvious, isn't it?_

 _I've never seen someone's smile as empty as yours.'"_

She pauses after this moment in the anecdote, and for once Kokichi has nothing to say. A thought lives and dies on his tongue, and he just glances between Angie and his painted depiction wordlessly. He stares at his fake smile on the canvas, and remains silent as she finishes voicing the recollection of the fleeting dream.

" ' _Except for mine, of course.' "_

* * *

 _Note : thank you for reading! I appreciate reviews when I can, but if you're stuck on what to say, let me ask a few questions:_

 _Of the three snippets here, which one of them did you like the most? (or the least, if you feel comfortable saying so). How do you feel about the characterizations I've given to the characters?_

 _Again, thanks for reading! Look forward to the next chapters soon!_


	2. Kirumi, Ryoma, Korekiyo

_**This chapter was originally written in early 2018. I have rewritten and edited it as of 19th October, 2018. Author's notes remain the same, however.**_

 _Note: There is mention of a game in this chapter (specifically during Ryoma's part). It's called BS, but you may also alternatively know it as Cheat, Doubt It, etc. Look up the rules if you're really curious, but understanding of the game itself is not necessary to understand that section of the chapter!_

 _I thank those of you for giving this work faves and follows all around! As well as my general readers! A special thanks to user "Basjetball" for leaving a really sweet review for last chapter! I appreciate it!_

Now, about this chapter:

KIRUMI TOUJOU: this part takes place during chapter one, before the killing game even starts.

RYOMA HOSHI: this part can take place any time before the death/investigation/trial of chapter two.

KOREKIYO SHINGUUJI: this part specifically takes place in chapter three, after the fourth floor of the academy is unlocked and before the death/investigation/trial begins.

* * *

 **Kirumi Toujou**

* * *

She dotes on him, and that's okay, because she dotes on literally everyone else. Kirumi lives up to her title quite feverishly, and as the Ultimate Maid there isn't anything she wouldn't do if it meant satisfying the demands of others. Not only is it convenient, but it is _dangerous_ because Kokichi can easily imagine someone using Kirumi to their ends, and having her carry out lethal acts in their stead. So he likes to think that he keeps a careful watch over her, even though he often wanders away from the others himself.

She approaches him one evening, looking curious but behaving obediently as usual. Hands folded, eyes steady, and voice calm—she really _is_ the Ultimate Maid. So the Ultimate Supreme Leader, in turn, acts accordingly to her words.

"Ouma-kun, may I ask you a few questions?" She asks him.

"Sure, but you already asked one. You've only got one, maybe _two_ left before I have to run away from you. Or kill you, but that'll be hard because we're out in the open." He tests the waters of her patience, but comes up dry since she doesn't bite. She only stares at him with a serious expression, one that fades away into something neutral as her hands rasp lightly against each other.

"I highly advise against making such statements. Even if they _are_ your baseless lies or usual jokes, the dire status of our current circumstances are no laughing matter." She straightens out her dress (which is already impeccable to begin with) and continues her interview. "I am speaking to you because I'd like to address your needs. I am doing this to everyone, and so I want you to answer honestly without the opinion of others affecting your decisions."

"Huh, that's a _lot_ of trouble you're going through. Why? Why cater to us when any one of us can start up the killing game in an instant?" Kokichi points a finger at Kirumi, not to accuse her but to remind her of their situation—something which she seems to already fully understand but still struggle with. "You'd only be making it easier on a potential killer, including myself."

"...You have a valid point…" she concedes quietly, but speaks up when she realizes her mistake of faltering in his presence. He wants to tell her that it's no big deal, but he doesn't get the chance to as she quickly moves to cover up her missteps. "Either way, until that situation happens, I am obligated to make sure that everyone's needs are satisfied thus far. So I'll begin with the questions now."

"Aw, jeez, you're no _fun,_ " Kokichi whines, staring at the bitten ends of his fingernails before paying her any further mind. "Fiiiine. Ask away, Toujou-chan."

"Very well. First, do you have any allergies to food or other substances?" Kirumi whips out a notepad that must have been waiting to be used from her pocket, and flicks the pages over the spiral before she comes to a blank one. A pen that was nestled in the same pocket is brought out, and she brings the black tip to the edge of paper in anticipation.

 _So prepared,_ he thinks to himself. _I wonder if she'd be just as fast if that were a dagger, instead?_

"I'm allergic to lies," he says in a serious voice. "If someone lies, I get all red, blotchy, and eventually I'll _die."_

"..."

"Okay, that was a lie. I'm not allergic to anything, Toujou-chan. Or, if I am, I don't remember~" he practically sings, but she ignores his little antics for now. Her pen writes diligently across the page.

"I see. Alright then, any health issues that I should be aware of? Also, if I could have a few of your preferred foods down, then it would assist me in making your meals."

"Are all your questions this _boring?_ Because if so, I might fall asleep while standing up. Will you do something about it if that happens?"

"In the event that you grow weary, I will suggest moving to a place where you can sit or lie down. If not, then I will be happy to carry you to your room, given that I also know the location of your room key so that I may be able to deliver you to your bed without incident."

He laughs at her words, hoping to make a suggestive joke about the bed part, but given her lack of proper reaction, he abandons the idea. Her questions are really just that— _questions._ No hidden intentions, no malice lying in wait to try and catch him off guard, no _anything_.

What a killjoy.

"I was _kidding._ About falling asleep, not about being bored. But I'm healthy as a...I don't know, what's healthy? Let's go with spinach for now. I'm healthy as spinach." He glances momentarily at her notepad, as he can see the writings of previous pages facing him. He reads them, finds no interest in their arbitrary nature, and sighs. "Okay, I prefer sweets to most foods. And I'm not lying about that one, either. So just write it down and get to the next thing so I can, I dunno, do something else with my brain cells besides feel them _deteriorate_ and _die_ from this awful conversation."

"I see. Very good. Next question, how do you sleep? I will specify the information I require: how many pillows do you sleep with, do you prefer a warm bed or a cool one, how many blankets do you sleep with, are you a side-sleeper, a back-sleeper, etc. Do you toss and turn—"

"If Toujou-chan goes to bed with me tonight, she'll see how I sleep~"

Her face falls into the most stoic expression he's ever seen, except the one that he is capable of doing himself. Perhaps he has reached the limit with her. But as the Ultimate Maid, shouldn't she have the patience of a 90-year-old grandmother? Why is she glaring at him like that? He wells up fake tears, and starts crying without reservation.

"Waaaah! I w-was only _joking!_ D-Don't make such a scary face like that, Toujou-chan…! P-Please, don't be so meaaaaaan to meeeeee!"

She suddenly looks alarmed, and puts away her notepad for the time being. Then she walks forward, and places a hand on his shoulder. The motion is gentler than he had anticipated it to be, and he feels inclined to let her hand stay there, if just for a moment.

"My apologies, Ouma-kun. I didn't mean to upset you. If you wish, then I will write down the sleeping specifications on a piece of paper, and you can fill it out at your own pace." She slowly takes the notepad back out again, and rips out the paper she was writing on. Then she hands it to Ouma. "Will that better suit your needs?"

" _Now_ you're talking!" Kokichi laughs and rubs his fake tears away in the same motion, only to swipe the paper from Kirumi's hand without so much as a warning. He runs off, but not before turning around and waving her goodbye.

"I'll let you know when I'm done with this! Hopefully we're not _dead_ by then! Good night, Toujou-chan!" Then he disappears into the dorm building, becoming nothing more but a lasting image in Kirumi's mind.

She sighs.

.

.

She doesn't stop doting on him, even after that. Dozens and dozens of questions later, she finally deems Kokichi "fit to serve", and waits on him as if he was her liege. But he isn't her liege, not really, and so quite frankly he is bothered by her willingness to do whatever he—and anyone else—wants her to do.

Of course, everyone else is unabashedly milking Kirumi's services, and making it a big deal that she does this and that for them. He feels bad for her, actually. Are Ultimate students supposed to be this lazy? If that's the case, then he certainly won't follow their example. He lays off Kirumi as much as he can, asking for only the bare minimum of her service (although she countered him at this time, and insisted that she shine his shoes, at the very least. He gave in only to get her to stop begging for menial tasks to complete). If anything, Kokichi tells her to "be his mom" for lack of a better idea, and hopes that the vague request will actually be dismissed and she won't ever nag him or anything of the like.

He is sorely wrong, and soon enough he finds himself cursed with Kirumi's constant presence. She does not overtly follow him at night, but he never stops seeing her—at the dorms, in the dining hall, by the courtyard, in the library—literally anywhere else in the school. Does she stalk him without him knowing, or is she somehow lucky to keep running into him? He can't quite tell, himself.

"Toujou-chan, why are you still watching me?" Kokichi asks her, placing one hand on his hip and another pointing at her in an accusatory manner. "It's getting annoying!"

"I'm watching you for your own good!" she doesn't yell, but her voice is louder than he remembers it being. Huh. "Why don't you appreciate what I do for you…? Is it not enough, Ouma-kun? I made you your favorite meal last night, didn't I? Then why are you so unsatisfied with my work?"

"But you don't need to keep watching over meeee," he whines, voice fluctuating between serious and joking. "I feel like I'm suffocating with you around! And you're always nagging me! Yesterday you told me that I shouldn't look 'untidy' and tried to remove my buttons!"

"At the time, I only planned on removing them and sewing identically black buttons on in their place. It irks me that they are currently mismatching in color. I see the appeal in asymmetry, but together with your general disposition, it makes your overall image appear to be lacking." her voice is deathly serious, and she circles him like a hawk, observing him for more mistakes. "Additionally, your clothes appear slightly torn on the bottom, so I would like a chance to repair them—"

"You're _kidding,_ right? First, I _like_ the colors. Second, the tears are there on purpose, not because my shirt is old or anything! Literally, it's just the _style_." he gawks at her, taking a step back out of shock. "W-Why does that even matter to you, anyway? You're acting like such a _mom._ "

"...Isn't that what you wanted from me?" Her voice is light and careful, now. "I recall you telling me sometime ago to 'be your mom'. And so, your mom I will be."

Then it all finally clicks together. His head resounds with similar phrases repeated over again, each with varying degrees of piteous disbelief. _Oh, you poor thing. Oh, you're so naive. Poor, naive, takes-everything-I-say-too-seriously Toujou-chan! I guess I have to set you straight, huh?_

"You surprise me, Toujou-chan! The fact that you literally became my mom, that's really cute of you! Are you being genuine or is this a ruse for when you inevitably kill me?" he laughs at his own words, even more so when he sees the irritated frown that crosses her face in response. "I wasn't being _serious_ when I said that. It was definitely a lie. I only said I wanted you to be my mom because you're so responsible and diligent, but mothers can also be stifling~ Also, if you really _were_ my mom, I would have to automatically hate you because of the passage of life and teenage rebellion, yada yada yada. And I don't _want to_ hate you, at least not anymore than I _have_ to."

He speaks with such clarity, but even Kirumi is unsure which words are truthful and which ones are just lies. She thinks hard before responding. "...So, you wish for me to cease this behavior?"

"Yes," he says simply. "Very much so."

"Fine, then I will return to our previous relationship. I still expect you to give me orders when you can." Kirumi pauses, and _something_ flashes across her deep-green eyes, but Kokichi's not sure what it is. But he knows it's there, and that there's something she wants to say to him.

Her denial is further proof of that. "Ah, Ouma-kun? Could I ask—no, wait, nevermind…"

"No, tell me what you were going to say, Toujou-chan!" he insists, smiling widely at her. "Speak now or forever hold your peace!"

"I-If you say so...I was going to ask you a personal question, actually."

"Eh? You know what _those_ are?" he tilts his head, seemingly concerned. She could have been exasperated but her face is too composed for that. "Well, what is it?"

"I was simply curious. Why did you ask me to be your mother in the first place if you did not truly want me to mother you? And why have you not used my services since then? I noticed you eat the meals I prepare and whatnot, you allow me to shine your shoes as per my suggestion, but unlike most of the others you have not explicitly asked me for favors, like delivering meals to your room or cleaning up a mess, and such." She glances at him, unable to see such a simple answer herself. Kirumi nearly mutters, more to herself than to Kokichi. "Why is that?"

For a short moment, Kokichi considers telling her the truth. He thinks of plenty of lies to give her instead (" _I think you're incompetent so I never asked you to help,"_ or " _I can't trust you because I can't trust anyone, we're in a killing game for fuck's sake!"_ or " _No reason, I'm just into that kink where people deny others of their desires. What about you?"_ or " _Sorry, I was too busy planning murder to call you! I won't make that mistake next time!")_ but none of them settle with him quite right. And of all the truths to tell, this would probably end up being the least consequential.

Ouma laughs at her. "You can't see it for yourself? That's silly. Isn't it obvious? The reason why I did any of this was because I pitied you!" Seeing her surprised expression, he just smiles widely and continues talking. "The moment that everyone realized you would literally do everything for them is when they turned you into their errand girl! You were already swamped with useless shit, like meal deliveries and whatever, so I figured you didn't need me to interfere."

"That's—"

"I'm not quite finished, Toujou-chan." Kokichi gently interrupts her, but there is a serious ring to his voice that makes him seem more imposing than he is. He looks up at her again with a strange look in his eyes. She stares deeply into the bruises of his irises, while he gets lost in the forest of hers. At their equilibrium point, he speaks. "Also, I don't _need you_ as much as you think I do. I'm the Ultimate Supreme Leader, after all."

Despite the serious nature of his words, Kokichi makes his face out into a wide, mischievous smile. " _Buuuut_ the real reason I actually put up with your nagging is because I think it's _cute._ You found out my real secret, you see. I have a _superiority complex_ and I love it when others look up to me... _not_. Come on, don't look so serious, Toujou-chan, I was just lying again! Relax!"

"Your lies are unlike the norm," she informs him, as if he didn't know this already. "So I cannot anticipate them as much as I'd like to. But, in response to your words...I suppose…I can admit I feel _some_ semblance of gratitude. Although I must assure you that I don't mind the others' requests in the slightest. Even if they have increased my workload considerably, it is still my job to see to their needs."

"Yeah, I know, that's why you've still been nagging me this whole time," Kokichi points out. "But, you know how I said I don't need you as much as you think I do? Well, throw that out the window, because I've got a request for you _right now_."

"And what is that request, Ouma-kun?"

"...Catch me!" he reaches out to her, and prods her left arm. She sputters a reply, but he just runs off. "We're playing tag, it's top priority! Consider all the other requests null until you _catch me~"_

She smiles softly, and places her hands to the side. Then she calls out to him with a teasing voice: "Are you sure that's wise, Ouma-kun? I am quite fast when needed to be!"

"Oh, please~ You're nothing but a snail right now! If you're so fast, prove it!" he's farther in the distance now, and laughing like a madman. "Catch me if you can, Toujou-chan!"

Of all the requests she has had to fulfill today, for some reason Kirumi finds this to be the least exhausting one, even if it should be the most physically taxing. But something about the lilt in Kokichi's voice, the starry sky above them, and her own resolution made it more picturesque than it needed to be. In fact, she feels like a tiny weight has lifted off her shoulders, and her back can straighten naturally without the need for her practiced poise.

With that bright new perspective in place, she kicks herself into full gear before dashing down the roads at a breakneck speed. Kokichi screams like a child when she closes in on him, and Kirumi spares him a rare but pretty laugh.

"W-Wait, Toujou-chan, I didn't think you'd actually catch up—"

"It's too bad, Ouma-kun! I never fail a task given to me!"

"I see that, but— _AAAH! NOOOO, I LOST!"_

"Yes!" she cries out, risking to reveal the desperation in her voice. "Victory!"

* * *

 **Ryoma Hoshi**

* * *

"Hey, Hoshi-chan! Are you rigging the system or are you actually this lucky?" Kokichi asks him earnestly, starry eyes staring down at his triumphant figure. It's another night in the casino, and like every other night, Ryoma effortlessly outmatches everyone in any game they plan. Whether they just aimlessly pull the slot machine lever, or whether they play one of those multiplayer games as a big group, he always comes out on top.

It's times like these when Kaito is yelling loudly about his (expected) losses that Kokichi looks elsewhere for entertainment. And usually it falls to Ryoma, whose mysterious yet cryptic personality never fails to draw attention. While Kokichi should save his breath for someone that cares about living, he doesn't mind finding new amusements now and then.

If only Ryoma could think the same about him. He spares Ouma a quick glance, before looking back at the machine in front of him. "Like I said before, I'm not even trying to win. Must be luck, no doubt about it."

"Aw, boring!" Kokichi whines, and dramatically flops in the chair next to him. He's not as bad as Kaito, but his luck at these games isn't as good as it ought to be. The words "TRY AGAIN" flash across his screen when he runs out of lives. He kicks his feet up on the console, and looks back at Ryoma again.

The tennis pro is off in another world, but makes a momentary return to this one in order to respond. "Boring? Do you want to actually rig the games, Ouma? There's no use in doing so, since Monokuma will probably show up and rant about destruction of property, or something."

"That's true," he concedes. "Still, it doesn't hurt to try. Momota-chan's probably broken the machine just by hitting it too hard when he loses."

Hoshi is difficult to please at times, but for some reason that wayward thought makes him chuckle. He gives the machine in front of him another go before talking again. "Huh. You're a funny kid, alright."

"Kid?" Kokichi tilts his head. "We're all the same age, though?"

"Physically? Sure. Mentally? Hell no," Ryoma scoffs at this apparently obvious revelation, but keeps his eyes hidden as much as he can. "You might not know this but I've grown at least a decade older while in prison. This killing game's sure to take a night off our total, but it ain't the same thing."

"Oh? Are you sure about that?" Kokichi leans back further into the seat, but doesn't fall. His feet are still up on the dash, though. "It sounds the same to me."

"I imagine most things sound the same when you're not paying close attention to them." Ryoma glances to the side to gauge a reaction, only to see that Kokichi is too busy staring at his chewed up fingernails. He scoffs. "Point made."

"Mmm, just 'cause someone's not looking at you, Hoshi-chan, doesn't mean they're not paying attention to you." His voice is more offbeat than usual, but he turns it all around on the flip of a switch. His lips rise into a jubilant curve, and he swings his legs down to jump out of his seat. "Boring, boring, boring! These games are all boring! Let's do something _fun,_ for once!" The way his eyes can go from thoughtful darkness to childish glee in a few seconds is nothing short of amazing. Ryoma pauses, and takes a moment to try and understand the drastic change in Kokichi's demeanor just now.

"Oh? And what's your definition of fun, Ouma?" he asks unobtrusively. "I thought these casino games were already fun enough."

"Please, this is _Monokuma's_ idea of fun. Having us while our time away here so we can get distracted on the important stuff is all part of his plan!" He blinks once, twice, then turns to Ryoma with a new, blank expression on his face. "I'm lying, of course. I have _no_ idea what's going on. But I saw Momota-chan wave us over, so we should go along."

Hoshi, for all his observant nature, cannot figure out what Ouma's deal is. But he takes each word the other says with a grain of salt, hoping that things get clearer at some point. The two of them regroup with Kaito, who really isn't lying about wanting them to join the others. He smiles at their appearance.

"Alright, you guys in?"

"In for what?" Kokichi asks, rocking back-and-forth on his heels. "Momota-chan, we're not helping you fix the machine so you can get your Monocoins back."

"Shut up, that's not my intention!" Kaito barks at him, then eases up as his gaze slides over to Ryoma's smaller figure. "What about you, Hoshi? You in?"

"For once, I'm with Ouma here. What exactly are we getting ourselves into?"

"Can't you people _look_ with your eyes, or somethin'? Come on," he motions to the large game table, where seats from other students (Shinguuji, Toujou, Kiibo, and Shirogane by the looks of it) are taken already. "We're playing card games tonight! I'm thinkin' poker, but I'm down for whatever anyone else wants to do!"

Kokichi and Ryoma take their seats, the remaining of which are next to each other. Kokichi seems relaxed and unaffected by the energetic atmosphere, while Ryoma allows a tiny smirk to cross his face. He hasn't played a good round of cards since his time in prison, so having a match now would only benefit him.

And from the sight of nervous, fresh faces around him, he can tell it'll be _easy pickings._ He almost laughs.

"I suggest something easier than Poker," Kiibo chirps up. "I don't think everyone knows the rules!"

"How about we play Dungeons and Dragons, instead?" Tsumugi asks, initially excited but faltering as she seems not too confident in her choice of games, either.

"Ew, _nerd!_ " Kokichi teases her, leaning forward on the long table so he can be in view of Tsumugi as he sticks his tongue out. "Come on, we have to play something that won't _put me to sleep_ in the first few turns!"

"Hey, it was just a suggestion!" Tsumugi huffs, but quickly drops the idea. "Then what do _you_ want to play, Ouma-kun?"

"I've got a list in mind. Right now I can think of strip poker—" a collective groan of refusal echoes all around, and he laughs loudly in response— "War, Rummy, Blackjack, Sevens...this is a pretty long list, but that should be enough for now."

"By the time we actually decide a game, it will be the next morning already." Korekiyo suddenly speaks, his voice leaving undeniable chills in the air. "Of course, observing humans as they congregate and try to put their differences aside...I'm entertained just by watching all of you like this…"

"Well," Kirumi interjects from her seat in between Kiibo and Korekiyo. "We could always vote for a game listed. Or put the names of games in a hat and draw one at random."

"You guys are making this decision _way_ more difficult than it has to be!" Kaito exclaims. Then his magenta eyes flicker in Ryoma's direction, noticing he hasn't spoken in a while. "Oi, Hoshi! Are you down for anything or do you got something to say?"

Everyone turns their attention to him, as if Kaito's words were a secret cue to put Ryoma on the spot. Even if that was the case, Ryoma is not one to back down under pressure. He glances from Kaito to Kokichi and back to Kaito again before speaking. "Didn't realize you all cared about what I had to say. Does it matter if we're going at it randomly like you said?"

"Of course it matters~" Kokichi pipes up from beside him. "Can't you see this is a group event? Everyone needs to talk even if they don't want to! It's forced dialogue, after all!"

"Heh, I suppose you're right. In that case, I have a game that's perfect for the maddest of people. So it should be fine for us." His words—suddenly alight with a sort of _liveliness_ that wasn't there before—attract attention and demand silence. Even Kokichi keeps it quiet for a bit. "I'm thinkin' we play a few rounds of BS."

No one makes any sudden reactions, and that's when Hoshi realizes that _no one knows_ what that game is. Kaito, who originally held the floor with his presence, makes some sort of motion to indicate that he's handing control over to Ryoma, now. Understanding this sign at once, Ryoma turns his attention to his fellow students.

"Here's how it goes. First, let's do some betting. Throw in your coins." They follow his orders, albeit hesitantly, and over the clutter of gold he adds on: "Now let's put some of these suspicions to use! This is a game where you absolutely cannot trust anyone!" For some reason, his eyes fall to Kokichi when he says this, and the shit-eating grin he receives in return doesn't seem as annoying anymore.

"No matter what!"

.

.

The game goes on for hours. Once they burn through the motions once, they get the hang of it, and continue playing multiple rounds of BS as a result. Everyone is about the same level of good at it, although Korekiyo and Tsumugi stand out for being better liars than most.

Ryoma and Kokichi, however, are on another level entirely. The Ultimate Supreme Leader is just that, and every time his turn comes around, he says something outrageous like: "I have three eights right here, whatcha gonna do about it?" or "I'm putting down one king, but I'm definitely lying! You're all fools if you don't call me out on it!" Words that provoke others for their blatant meaning, but also make othem suspicious in the same turn are _deadly_ in a game like BS. Kokichi is so fluent at it, that even Kiibo and Kirumi hesitate to call him out on his turn.

The Ultimate Tennis Pro, on the other hand, is not nearly as fastidious or facetious, but his innate mystery and hard-to-read personality makes him a force to be reckoned with. No one can quite tell what he means when he places down cards on his turn, and he never looks at anyone in the eye, either. He just pulls down on his beanie so it covers the top half of his eyes, and keeps his voice even when he speaks.

"Two queens," he calls out, placing two cards face down on the pile. It is quite the large pile that rested underneath his cards, and it stands as the only thing preventing anyone from calling out on his lies this very minute. Ryoma only has one card left and if they don't do something soon, then he will inevitably win.

"Two queens? Didn't someone put down two queens last time, too? That's _awfully_ suspicious of you, Hoshi-chan!" Kokichi's voice is clear as day, and loud as a bull horn as he puts unnecessary emphasis into his words. Ryoma gives a cursory glance in his direction, sees his annoying face, and then looks away again. "Oh, is that _guilt_ in your eyes, Hoshi-chan? Are you guilty?"

"...Why don't you call BS on me if you're so curious, Ouma?" Although he is referring to the game, there is a strange edge in his voice. The others detect it easily, but they're not sure what to think of it. Only Kokichi, who is apparently referring to something else as well, understands his sentiment.

He laughs. "Isn't that a bit cruel towards you? If I call you out on something you already know, that would instantly make you feel better, right? Sure, you're stuck with like, half the deck of cards as a result, but it's like the ultimate catharsis afterward! Kind of like taking a _biiiig_ shot of heroin in terms of feeling better about it all."

"Ouma—"

" _But_ I could also _not_ call you out on it, and make you _live_ with the choices you've made. Make you live with the _guilt,_ you know? And so even if you win, it'll be like you lost one hundred percent!" A bright smile appears on his face, as if he had been praising Ryoma this entire time instead of messing around with him. "I guess it sucks for you either way, huh?"

"Ouma," Ryoma addresses him again in a much more serious tone. "Quit screwin' around. Just go, already."

"Nishishi, did I hit a soft spot somewhere?" He widens his eyes, making the most innocuous expression that anyone has ever seen on his face thus far. "But, sorry, I won't hold up the game any longer."

"Finally, I—"

"Because I call BS on you, Hoshi-chan!" his sudden accusation riles up the others, and he's sure he can hear Tsumugi's confused babbles in the background somewhere. "Reveal your hand! Well, not your actual hand, but the cards you just put down~"

Ryoma grimaces, but abides by the rules as he reveals the top two cards on the deck. He had claimed that they were queens, but turning them over reveals that they are a pair of nines, instead. Everyone loses their minds as they scream and overreact in every way possible (which, for sedate people like Kirumi or Korekiyo, amounts to being vocal notes of displeasure and slightly-less-stoic expressions on their faces).

Kokichi smiles triumphantly, and waits for the cards to be collected before starting his turn. "It's too bad, because I did all that to you just so I could do _this,_ " he cheers himself on, and reveals his last card. It is a king, and in the ascending order of the card ranks, it means that it is the right card for his turn and the last card needed to end the round completely. Upon realizing this, everyone protests in their own ways (ranging from exasperated groans to relieved sighs) and throws their cards in the middle of the table.

Ryoma does the same, after having stared down the massive amount of cards in his hand. Despite the big speech Kokichi gave about guilt and revealing one's self, he ended up stopping the game in its tracks, anyway. And what was that he said about calling out Ryoma's bluff? That admitting his guilt would make him feel better, or something? He thinks carefully about it, but quickly denies the thought. _He's just messing with me,_ he decides. _That's all there is to it._

Yet, Kokichi isn't wrong when he says that admitting one's guilt could be cathartic. Despite having been the clear loser of the game, Ryoma feels no worse than he did when this whole charade started. In fact, he feels a little bit _better_ for some reason. It's nothing compared to his thoughts about his imprisonment and the murder he committed, but it's a tiny step in the right direction.

The person who had unknowingly (or did he know all this time?) pushed him in that direction is Kokichi Ouma. Ryoma looks over his shoulders to look back at Kokichi, who seems completely absorbed in some insult war with Kaito. They throw poisonous words of back-and-forth to each other, ignoring the judgement of onlookers. _It's just as well,_ Ryoma thinks to himself. _He's not serious about this. He never is._

Of course, those thoughts are simply a part of balancing out the natural pessimism rising inside of him. If he lets his heart be honest for once, then he would know that he actually takes Kokichi's words very seriously, and part of him is still wondering about that smile he had worn on his face. If Ryoma could just be honest, then he would be able to admit that Kokichi's little plan to rile him up _worked_ entirely.

The honesty is quiet, though, and never lives beyond his lips. Instead, he just keeps it close to his chest like a promise, and leaves the casino wordlessly without a fight. He knows very well that Kokichi's eyes have wandered to his fleeting figure in the process, and he does not seem to care.

Just like always.

* * *

 **Korekiyo Shinguuji**

* * *

Kokichi is not going to admit it, but he really likes the Ultimate Anthropology Lab. He gets shivers from just being in the room, yet that doesn't change the fact that there's so many _interesting_ things in there. He has always preferred manga over literature, but the shelves stacked top to bottom with different folklore and secrets over time that call out to him all the same. He knows that in order to keep his head above the bleeding water, he needs all the knowledge he can pry from the resources in the Academy.

So it's no surprise to himself that he ends up inside Korekiyo's lab one night. Far past the ten o'clock announcement from the Monokubs, Kokichi has evaded the watchful eye of the self-proclaimed student council, and successfully made his way into the spacious lab. He stares at the display cases that hold artifacts beyond his understanding, as well as the scattered papers across one of the desks. It seems Korekiyo has already made use of his personal abode, which is only to be expected from an obsessively observant guy like him.

But even as he thinks that, Ouma is rather thankful that he doesn't feel _true fear_ towards Shinguuji, despite the latter's horribly creepy disposition. Given the fact that he looks the most like a serial killer out of anyone else here, he knows that it is better to exercise caution in any case. But if worse comes to worse, he can easily outrun him in any given situation. That much he knows.

"Wow, this is some pretty morbid stuff!" Kokichi exclaims to himself, letting his voice bounce off the walls of the room. He takes up the space between two bookshelves by sitting cross-legged on the floor, and thumbs through several encyclopedias written on the topic of human torture. "Jeez, has Shinguuji-chan gotten to this yet? I hope not."

He places the books back in their spot, and scans the aisle for more reading material. There is a distinctly dusty smell and appearance on some of these books, reminding him of the library in the basement more than anything. It feels like a library, too, if the cases of anthropological artifacts weren't there to offset it all.

Kokichi glances at the door ahead of him, wondering if Shinguuji ever comes here at night, or if he remains totally alone on the fourth floor. It is possible that Angie and the student council are in the Ultimate Artist lab, but even then they would never know about Ouma's presence in the nearby room. If he really wants to, he could try and concoct the perfect murder that would inevitably frame one of those brainless cultists as the guilty party.

Then he remembers that murder is wrong, of course, and that he shouldn't let the horrors of the past two trials get to him so easily. Such intrusive thoughts scare even _him,_ and he nearly bites his whole thumb nail off while trying to curb his anxiety.

Just as the idea disappears from his mind, the entrance to the lab opens and closes in one swift movement. The sound doesn't catch him off guard, but he remains cautious as he silently gets up to his feet, and peers from behind the bookcase to see who it is.

"Hmm. I sense something different here. I wonder what it could be…" from the wondrously sedate tone of the voice ( _he always sounds like he's had three doses of anesthesia_ , a funny thought echoes inside his head) Kokichi realizes that it's none other than Korekiyo himself. Of course, the Ultimate Anthropologist spending the night in his own lab isn't surprising at all. If anything, the surprise lies in Kokichi, who shouldn't have been there in the first place. But he can't just disappear into thin air, even if he wants to, so he decides to wait for the other to figure it out.

"...I see." Korekiyo is rather tall, and Kokichi can see him clearly from his vantage spot. He goes down to pick something up, but that something is so small that Kokichi can't see it no matter how hard he squints. Yet Korekiyo is transfixed on it, turning the unknown object in his hand over and over again.

"And I find myself upon a metal pin. Quite a specific kind, too. Is this _yours,_ Ouma-kun?"

Kokichi doesn't answer at first, and instead he feels his shirt for the missing pin that Korekiyo claims to have. Of course, the bottom flaps of his shirt are more pronounced than he remembers them being, and that's because the metal pin that usually keeps the ends of it stuck together has come loose. A thread hangs from its old spot, but the familiar gleam of silver is no longer there.

It's in Shinguuji's hands, instead, and it's the evidence that makes Ouma's presence undeniably real. He sighs loudly, dramatically, then yells out: "No, that's my _ghost's!_ If you come any closer, you'll see my body and _bam,_ my spiritual self, floating like a piece of dust in the astral plane." He can't even entertain the idea as much as he would like to, but it doesn't matter.

The anthropologist takes careful steps in the supreme leader's direction, minding the small clutter that has accumulated there beforehand. Then he appears in all of his 6'2" glory, nearly casting a damn shadow on the 5'1" boy before him.

Yet somehow, Kokichi is not half as nervous as Korekiyo appears to be. He barely manages to return the metal pin back to its owner, with his hands trembling slightly the entire time. After Kokichi pockets the stray object, Korekiyo asks him: "And what are you doing here, Ouma-kun? It's rather strange of you to be out here, especially given the time."

"I'm not out, I'm actually in." He places his hands behind his head, and throws an easy smile in the other's direction. "In your lab, I mean."

"Ah, forgive my phrasing. That's what I meant to ask at the beginning. Why are you here, in my lab, tonight? Is it possible that you were planning to—"

"Kill you? Yup, you caught me red-handed!" Kokichi moves one of his hands out from behind his head, and waves it in Korekiyo's face. "Oh, well my hand's actually a light-peach color, but the 'red' in 'red-handed' doesn't actually refer to the skin—"

"I know that," Korekiyo interrupts him, weirdly impatient towards his usual hijinks. "You say you are meant to kill me, but I have a feeling that is but another one of your lies."

"Nope, not a lie, this time. I'm _definitely_ gonna get ya. If you keep talking to me, you'll end up convening with all our old friends sooner than you'd like!" A wicked smile on Kokichi's face is what it takes to flush out the inner _horror_ he feels when recounting their fellow, fallen students. He hopes it passes off well, and that his turmoil is kept undetected by the other's watchful eyes.

That _must_ be the case, because Shinguuji's face blanches to record-high pales. Even for him, who fantasizes over humanity's ugly and beautiful traits (being murderous was ugly, right? Or was it beautiful by his standards? Kokichi couldn't know _),_ something like joking about death only works to make him extremely uncomfortable.

"Ouma-kun...that's a lie just now, isn't it?"

"Oh, who knows?" he shrugs it off, then grabs a book off the nearest shelf. Korekiyo wants to protest, but it's too late and Kokichi continues to leaf through the pages. "More importantly, have you actually _read_ the books in here? This is wild shit, I'm telling you!"

"I haven't had the chance to read them all, unfortunately." Shinguuji reaches for the book, but Ouma dodges his movements and ducks beneath his arm. "Ouma-kun, I'd prefer if you put that back where you got it!"

Of course Ouma doesn't listen, he just hums to himself while he walks rounds around the lab's perimeter. It amuses him to no end that Shinguuji actually follows him on his trail, instead of waiting for him to loop back around to the same spot. Perhaps this lapse of judgement can be blamed on the late hour ( _shit, that clock says it's almost four in the morning)_ because he remembers Shinguuji to be far more intelligent than _this._

And Shinguuji knows this, too, which may explain his frustration towards Ouma at the moment. "Why do you insist on wreaking havoc in here? Given that this is a public space, and anyone is welcome to use it, I would rather have a moment of privacy considering the late hours!"

"Yeah, and if I do that, you might just have enough time to plan a huge murder!" He laughs at this idea, but doesn't necessarily dismiss it. "Can't have you do that, Shinguuji-chan! I have to keep an eye on you, after all~"

"What? But you just said that you were planning to kill me yourself—"

"That was a _lie,_ " Kokichi cheers, relishing in the pure exhaustion appearing in Korekiyo's eyes. It must be from the late hours, and not his sudden annoyances. Or if his listless expression _is_ a result of Kokichi's stupidity, then he's even happier for its appearance. "Come on, there's like a million books in here and you think I'm interested in _murder?_ Jeez, _you_ must be fun at parties."

"Regardless of your interest in books, everyone is concerned with the killing game," he huffs, finally able to get a word in edgewise. "Anyway, are you really as fascinated by all of this as you say? Anthropology and folklore, by association, are not amicable topics to most people."

"Yeah, well, as an evil supreme leader, anything that can further my goals is interesting to me!" He screeches to a halt, looks up at Korekiyo, and dangles a book by its front cover as he watches for a reaction. "This is _full_ of stories about tortured villages and stuff. Have you read it yet?"

"That particular copy, yes. Only because I had to start somewhere, and I had read most other books in this collection already. Why do you ask me this?"

"Now two of us know the methods inside, then! So if either of us use this as a means of murdering someone, the other will know _exactly_ who did it~" Kokichi smiles, smiles, and smiles...but then the ends turn up _too_ high and the shadows cast against his face turn his cute countenance into a horrific facade within seconds. There is a disturbing aura emanating from those eyes alone, and like bruises they seem as if they would bleed out and turn the rest of his body into the same, putrid shade of purple.

Korekiyo has seen ghosts, demons, and the ugliest aspects that humanity has had to offer. Yet at the same time, Kokichi's current expression manages to match them all for pure desperation, and straight-fucking-creepiness of the highest degree. He doesn't want the other to know he's been unnerved, however, because surely this is just another amusement of his.

But he can't help it—he can't possibly know what spurred on such rotten sentiments in the first place. And he wonders why it has to be him, of all people, to be on the receiving end of it.

" _Right,_ Shinguuji-chan? Nishishi, you got all quiet just now~"

"...Ouma-kun," he says in a deeply concerned voice. "What's with this sudden mood change? Are you tired since it's three in the morning, or is this how you always are?"

Kokichi blinks once, twice, then rubs at his eyes in a cute, sleepy manner. In doing so, it's like he's removing makeup or some kind of mask from his face. When he looks back at Korekiyo, that horrible expression is gone, and his face is as blank as printer paper when he tilts his head to the side. "Eh? What were we talking about again? Wait, don't even remind me, because my answer will be that I was lying no matter what."

"Ouma-kun," Korekiyo says, losing the annoyed tone in his voice from before. "How long do you plan on staying here?"

"Well, I'm bored now," Kokichi admits, stifling a yawn. "So I guess I'll leave now. I was gonna stay up all night just to pester you, but you suddenly got so serious. Talk about being _predictable,_ Shinguuji-chan."

"I see. In that case, know that you are to assemble here tomorrow at, say, ten in the morning. Failure to do otherwise will force me to seek you out instead." Slowly, carefully, and methodically, do his words come out. He is like an experienced nurse, drawing blood from the words that are hanging in the air.

Ouma quickly decides he doesn't want the blood drawn out of him. He balks. "And what makes you think I'll agree to that? Even if you chase me, I'll never ever meet up with you again. Unless I'm dead, then sure, I can come visit you when you do one of your creepy rituals or something."

"It's not a negotiable factor, I'm afraid." Korekiyo is decided in this course, and his eyes stare straight into Kokichi's core. He hopes his stare burns into his very soul, or leaves him as exposed as a nerve. Hopefully, it can achieve some lovely combination of the two, but it doesn't matter as long as it's anything that shows—for once—Shinguuji means serious business. He normally prefers observation, but this is a case that requires direct intervention.

Kokichi sulks in his own way—and that way is him smiling, stepping on Korekiyo's foot as he skips to the entrance, and waving goodbye at him in such a _fake_ manner that he doesn't bother fixing himself. "G'night, Shinguuji-chan! Please, never look at me again! I mean it, that's not a lie!" Then he disappears behind the doors, making a point to slam them _just_ loudly enough to be startling.

"Dear me," Korekiyo mutters to himself, "it seems as if I have a lot on my plate now."

 _Dearest Korekiyo, what bothers you?_

"Oh, I am afraid that Ouma-kun has been in this room for far too long. One of those spirits has entered his body, I'm sure of it."

 _Are you certain? What makes you think so?_

"The way he looked at me...it was nothing short of demonic. Of course, the energies in this room are overwhelming, even for the most crafty individuals, so the fact that even the Ultimate Supreme Leader could succumb to them is not surprising. I shall see to an exorcism, for his sake alone if no one else's."

 _Sweet Korekiyo, how chivalrous you are. You always think of others, don't you? I will be here, as always, to make sure your endeavors succeed with all my heart._

"Thank you, my love. I promise not to fail you, or Ouma-kun, for that matter…"

.

.

The next day, Korekiyo confronts Kokichi at the dining hall. He hopes the other students and the need to eat breakfast will trap him there, and keep him under his watch no matter what. But the supreme leader is smarter than that, because he skips out on breakfast and confrontation by running as fast as his legs can take him.

The anthropologist is no less dedicated when his mind is set on something, so he gives chase. Their whole morning is spent circling the courtyard, the roads to Miu's lab, Tenko's lab, the pool and back—even around the dormitories and over the new astro-turf grass placed by the Exisals. Neither of them wants to give up, and it's here that Korekiyo realizes he has to take unfair action if he is to accomplish his goals.

So, he puts his long reach and bigger body to use, and sticks his leg out as far as it can. The limb tangles up with Kokichi's fleeting feet, and the boy yelps loudly before falling face-forward into the concrete. There isn't a hard _cracking_ noise like there should be, so Korekiyo assumes that he has caught himself on his hands before his face could take the full brunt of the force.

This assumption turns out to be right, because Kokichi resurfaces without a single scratch on his face. No, the only thing on his face is an indignant scowl and a look of pure confusion. That malevolent glower from last night threatens to break through his annoyed countenance. Luckily, he relents before giving into such a horrific expression. "Fine, fine, you got me! What the hell do you _want,_ Shinguuji-chan? What's so important that you have to chase me all over the school, huh?"

"Running away from me during such an important time is foolish on your account," he insists, pointing a bandaged finger in Kokichi's direction. "I'm only doing this for your own good, Ouma-kun."

"Doing _what?_ Listen, the weird and mysterious act might be charming to some people, but I think it's _tacky._ So hurry it along, or I might just actually have to factor in your death to my plans somehow!"

"Fine. Say no more," Shinguuji says, moving a step forward in an attempt to close the distance between him and Ouma. In the few seconds it takes to do that, he has unwrapped the bandages from his dominant hand, revealing the smooth skin underneath. "This shouldn't hurt."

"What are you doing?" Kokichi wants to ask more, but he gets cut off by a hand as cold as ice. This hand makes contact with his forehead by pushing the long bangs out of the way, and pressing into the skin with minimal but distinctive force. He can't suppress a shiver climbing up his spine, but he bites down on his tongue to prevent one of those weak-sounding whimpers from coming along with it.

Throughout this whole moment, Korekiyo doesn't speak. He only stares, stares, _stares_ at Kokichi like there is something worth looking at, and something even more to see beyond that impossibility. The entire time, his hand is placed on Kokichi's forehead, and it feels like a weirdly-shaped glacier trying to edge its way into somewhere it doesn't belong. When it finally ends, Korekiyo retracts his hand, mutters a few words to himself, and nods.

"There, we are done."

"Done with _what,_ exactly?"

"I have cleansed the evil," is all he says whilst raising his hands in the air, as if to praise whatever unseen force lay there. "You are free to move at your own will, once more. The darkness has been vanquished."

"... _What?_ What are you going on about, Shinguuji-chan?"

"Of course, I don't expect you to understand even if I told you, despite your innate cunning." he seems pleased by this reasoning, somehow. "But, I will say this: I noticed a strange entity in my lab the other night. Perhaps you heard me speak aloud to myself while you were reading the books in there. Anyway, the being I sensed was not actually you at the time, but a wayward spirit come to recollect itself in my domain. When we spoke, I noticed something strange about your usual behavior, and I have realized that the reason for that was because the spirit has taken asylum in your body."

Kokichi opens his mouth to say something, but for once he is not quick enough and Korekiyo cuts in again. "And worry not, it is gone. My actions just now have freed your soul, Ouma-kun. Cleansed it, even. There is no need to thank me on this matter. I find that the resolution of the problem itself to be highly rewarding. So, with everything out of the way, I shall take my leave. Good day, Ouma-kun."

Korekiyo turns on his heels, and begins walking with a bouncier step than usual. His hair flows behind him like dark curtains, and the distinctive nobility of his figure disappears into the distance, then fades entirely as he slips behind the doors to the academy building. In the time it takes him to leave, Kokichi collects his bearings to try and figure out what the _hell_ just happened to him.

"What a weirdo," he mutters to himself. "Talking about last night and whatever...I didn't even _see_ him last night." A small sigh escapes him, but he allows it since he has the safety of his own company to behold it. The talk of demons, possession, and strange behavior all work to confuse Kokichi. He doesn't remember anything like that ever happening. Granted, he had stayed up very late last night, but he never even made his way to the Ultimate Anthropology lab.

In his mind, he had taken a midnight stroll at that time, returned to his room, and spent the rest of the night writing away on his whiteboard, papers, and in the margins of the papers when he realized he had forgotten something. Not any time during that sequence did he manage to walk to the fourth floor of the school building, so what gives?

 _Whatever,_ Kokichi thinks to himself. _I have more important things to worry about than this!_ He resolves himself to spend the whole day in his room again, using the unsightly appearance of the student council members as an excuse to stay busy. But as he walks back to his room, he can't help but feel strangely light-hearted, as if a burden he doesn't remember carrying has suddenly lifted off his shoulders. Maybe it has to do with the "cleansing" or "soul-freeing" that Shinguuji had mentioned, and maybe he wasn't lying about whatever it was he said before.

But as soon as that thought enters Kokichi's mind, he shoots it down without a warning. _Don't be stupid,_ he thinks. _There's no such thing as spirits._

He walks inside his room, and faces the whiteboard once again. A new scrawling appears underneath Korekiyo's picture, in bold lettering that is nothing short of mocking. _FUCKING WEIRDO,_ it temporarily says, _NO LONGER INTERESTING!_

Over the course of the day, the writing eventually gets erased, but the thought of it never truly escapes Kokichi's mind. By the next morning, he forgets the strange occurrence in its entirety, but doesn't feel worse or better for it. He greets everyone at breakfast with a usual smile and a joke about dying, before sitting down and eating some food himself. He even makes eye contact with Korekiyo, and gives a jovial wave that is free from his usual (fake) malice.

Life goes on.

* * *

 _Note: Thanks for reading this far! Again, I appreciate it! Reviews would be appreciated (mostly I'm curious as to which of the three snippets is your favorite!) more than anything!_


	3. Tenko, Tsumugi, Himiko

**_This chapter has been rewritten and edited as of 19th October, 2018. The author's notes remain unchanged, however._**

 _Note: Hey there! Sorry about the lengthy update this time around, Himiko's part gave me the most trouble to actually type out (I had written the draft on paper but I never got around to transposing it...whoops). So to make up for it, this chapter features some heavy stuff in terms of characterization, interaction, etc._

 _Unfortunately, I will have to rescind my earlier description that said there wouldn't be major spoilers in this fic. There are major spoilers present this time around, but I'll denote which chapters have it and whatnot. That being said, here are the characters for this chapter!_

TENKO CHABASHIRA: this part takes place during chapter three, after the research labs of that chapter have been discovered but before the death/investigation/trial of that chapter. Maybe just a warning here, but there is a part in this snippet that could be interpreted as a suicide attempt?

TSUMUGI SHIROGANE: this takes place in chapter one, before the killing game even begins! However, this part has **_spoilers for the entire game_** maybe, and saying that is sort of a spoiler in and of itself. So just tread carefully.

HIMIKO YUMENO: this part takes place after chapter four and before the beginning of chapter five. This one also has **_spoilers for chapter five_** that are pretty prevalent, so here's the fair warning for that, now!

* * *

 **Tenko Chabashira**

* * *

She hates thinking about men. She hates knowing that creatures such as them exist, and most of them do so in the name of hurting women or other people outside of their group. She hates knowing that most men (especially older, creepier ones) will go to great lengths in order to hurt and abuse people. She hates it.

She hates the inevitable truth that lies in women being the same way. While she has encountered less nasty women in her life than nasty men, she knows that they exist in equal measures. Regardless of gender, sex, orientation, race, and otherwise, people could be equally bad to each other and downright awful. She knows this.

But the men she is forced to be put in a killing game with only make her think worse of them as a whole. The only tolerable ones in her mind are Shuuichi (who is so passive that it's almost tiring to try and hate him), Gonta (he's a _real_ gentleman, that guy), and _sometimes_ Kiibo. She does not consider Kiibo the same way she considers the other human students, but she knows better than to let the robot know this opinion of hers.

The really bad ones are Kaito, Ryoma, and Kokichi. Granted that Kaito is the least "bad" of those three, his bravado still proves challenging to deal with, and he has some old-fashioned morals about how men should behave and whatever. So although he is irritating at times, he is not nearly as bad as Ryoma or Kokichi.

Ryoma is a literal criminal, lumped together with innocent people ( _like Yumeno-san,_ she immediately thinks) and serves as nothing more than an overall threat to their safety. The fact that he does not even have the will to keep living in a situation as dire as theirs only makes him worse in her mind. She can't tell what's he thinking, either, and the unpredictability of his character makes him a veritable threat all the same.

Oh, that's nothing though, because the _real_ threat of this game is _Kokichi._ Tenko has been suspicious of him since day one, and she doubts his smile and intentions whenever they present themselves. Combined with his off-the-rails way of thinking, speaking, and generally acting, she can't trust him at all. She can't trust anyone that rattles off rants from the tongue like a madman, only to make a whole 180-degree turn and act like an innocent child being scolded. Her aikido has taught her that a clear mind, stable body, and good soul will lead the way in life.

She really, really doubts that Kokichi has any _one_ of these things, let alone _all_ of them.

.

.

"Yumeno-san, is something wrong?" Chabashira asks her, voice drifting down into a mellow tone. She would normally scream and shout over Yumeno at any given time, but she restrains herself this time in case something really _is_ wrong.

The other girl doesn't speak at first, and her eyes are like a rose-tinted camera lens, going in and out of focus with painstaking adjustments. For a moment, Tenko considers running off to grab someone else, or shaking Himiko by the shoulders to get her to answer. But then Himiko snaps back into reality herself, raising a finger in the air as she speaks.

"I was...worried. And I was thinking about something," she says. Her thin brows furrow slightly, and the indifferent surface of her face curves downward with the semblance of a frown. "It's about your lab."

"Oh, the dojo?" Tenko pauses thoughtfully, taking a few seconds to mull it over. "What happened? Has your magic detected something there?"

"Mmm, my mana reserves had been depleted at the time." Himiko shrugs, as if it couldn't be helped. "But I was still able to cast a low-level detection spell. And as it turned out, someone had been snooping by your lab at that time."

"Amazing!" Tenko gapes. "Your magic is so amazing, Yumeno-san!"

"I know," Himiko agrees. "And I wouldn't think too much about it, since it's a pain. But…"

"But?"

"But it's _who_ was snooping around that made me worried." she holds the sides of her body with a gentle grasp, closing in on herself. Tenko wants to tell her that it'll be okay, since she's the Ultimate Neo-Aikido Master and therefore can kick the ass of whoever it is that's there—but the thought lives and dies on her tongue as a pathetic stutter.

Himiko continues, anyway. "It was...Ouma…"

Tenko pauses momentarily. Then she places a soft grip on Himiko's shoulder, giving it the slightest of squeezes. "Thank you for telling me, Yumeno-san. I'll be back."

"Where are you going?" the initial curiosity presents itself, but fades away as the usual lethargic expression appears on the magician's face once more. She sighs. "Never mind, it's too much of a pain to ask you, actually. Good luck with...whatever."

Tenko is already a few steps ahead of her, walking upright and proud as she heads down the path that will take her back to her dojo. She steels herself, because while she may be hundreds of times stronger than Kokichi, that only applies to her physicality. When it comes to words, thoughts, or cunning of any kind, she knows that Ouma has her outdone without even trying.

She also knows that anyone who has the misfortune to interact with Kokichi will receive nothing but the biggest headaches possible. Tenko prepares herself for such a fate.

.

.

Himiko's observations prove themselves to be true. Just as Tenko arrives in front of the dojo, Kokichi is about to leave it. However, he seems genuinely surprised by Tenko's presence, as if he didn't anticipate her return to be this early. _Typical male,_ she thinks to herself. _They think they're so sly, sneaking around like this!_

 _Well, you can't sneak by_ me _that easily!_

"Chabashira-chan!" he greets happily, losing the momentary worry that had crossed his face just now. "Hey, what's with that frown? If it gets any worse, you'll have wrinkles in no time!"

"Menace!" she barks at him, and readies a fighting stance in the same instance. "What are you doing here? Are you planning something? If so, Tenko will do everything in her power to stop you!"

"Eh? What's wrong with being here? I was just exploring innocently!" Kokichi pouts, and he looks so _childish_ and _innocent_ when doing it. Tenko hesitates, but figures his sweetness to be just another one of his infinite lies. He goes on talking. "There's no rule that states I can't explore the academy, y'know!"

"Yes, and while that's true, that still doesn't change the fact that you're out here _prowling_ on your own, and so close to the dojo, too!" Tenko doesn't back down and doesn't even _consider_ giving into him. She can't imagine why some of the others let him get away with the things he does, but she resolves herself to _not_ be one of those people.

He seems to notice this, but continues to be unyielding. "Huh? I'm not a tiger, Chabashira-chan, I can't _prowl._ Also, you seemed just _fine_ when Saihara-chan was exploring this place earlier!" Kokichi points this out to her, sounding offended by the idea in and of itself.

"That's different! Saihara-san is... _tolerable,_ " Tenko nearly spits the word out, much to her chagrin. "He's still weak like all men are, but he's not so bad. _You,_ on the other hand, are the biggest menace in this game!" _Which is funny because you're the third shortest next to Hoshi-san and Yumeno-san,_ Tenko adds on internally.

Kokichi blinks, then stops. He remains still and unmoving, and Tenko briefly wonders if her words have turned him to stone, somehow. While she prefers this quiet to his usual antics, there is something about his face that still makes her uneasy. She thinks it has to do with the sudden _nothingness_ that has become his expression. Just a blank countenance looks up at her now, as if asking for guidance or some inkling of a _feeling,_ and it makes her stomach twirl a bit.

Finally, after what must have been a lengthy moment in time, Kokichi speaks. "Oh, Chabashira-chan. If you're so curious about what I was doing, I can just _show_ you. And we can skip all this boring chit-chat, too." His smile widens, but not into one of those insufferable smirks that he's known for having. It turns into something soft and cute, but mischievous all the same.

Tenko stares silently for a few seconds before responding. "...Fine." She brings her arms back to her side, and stands up straight to bring herself back from the fighting stance. "But don't try anything funny! Tenko will throw you with all her might if she finds anything suspicious happening!"

"O~kay!" Kokichi nearly sings, then walks backward into the dojo with careful movements. The doors slide open with his touch, and Tenko feels relaxed when she sees familiar scenery appear behind his back.

The Ultimate Aikido Lab is a rather spacious dojo. It is lined with tatami mats (which smell really good, according to Saihara when he first unlocked this area) and practice dummies. The largest dummy is a wooden fighting machine, situated in the back of the room. It looms over the space like a watchguard somehow, and the way its arms swing out leaves people to wonder if it could go berserk at any moment.

A bridge connects the entrance of the room to the middle—otherwise there is a large perimeter trench, where it looks like anyone thrown into it would fall into an abyss more endless than the earth. "Which is wrong," Tenko had once said in response to their fears. "Because Tenko has jumped into the trench to see for herself! She fell a bit more than expected, but was totally fine afterward!"

Now, Tenko looks at that darkness, and vaguely entertains the idea of throwing Kokichi in there as a punishment for his mischief and chaos. If he tries to hurt her in any way, he'd be seeing his fair share of the trench soon enough. She huffs proudly at the thought of it.

"Did you tamper with the dojo at all?"

"Hmm, I dunno! You tell me!"

"Obviously, you did something, you short menace!"

Tenko points at Kokichi in an accusatory manner, narrowing her eyes until they appear as nothing but acidic green slits. "You said you would show Tenko what you were doing! So you must have been—"

"I was doing this!" Kokichi cries out as he jumps on top of one of the practice dummies. The object teeters as he steps on top of it, but stays upright as he leaps from the dummy onto one of the raised platforms in the dojo. Then he sways the platform left and right, balancing himself like some tight-wire performer in the air.

Tenko gawks. "G-Get down from there, you degenerate male!"

Kokichi laughs. "Make me!"

She doesn't back down from his challenge. Instead, she steps backward, and creates distance between her and the practice dummies. Then she throws herself into a running start, using her momentum to jump from the ground and onto the top of one of the dummies. Her body lithely flips onto one of the raised platforms, as well, and within seconds Tenko has joined Kokichi in his mid-air madness.

The platforms swings back and forth when the sudden weight is thrown onto them. But they remain affixed in their general spots, with the chains connected to the ceiling which keep them suspended in the air. Tenko eyes each platform carefully as she moves across them, hoping to close the gaps between her and Kokichi. He runs and jumps around like a child on a playground, laughing to himself with every step he takes.

She huffs. "Stop messing around already!"

"I was _already_ done playing but then you ran into me and demanded to know what I was doing!" He reminds her of this crucial fact, wagging his finger as if to scold her. "So this is just your fault, Chabashira-chan!"

"Shut up!" she yells at him. "If Tenko knew that this is what you were going to do all along, then she would never have asked in the first place!"

"But that's just your problem, isn't it?" Kokichi pauses as he holds onto one of the chains, swinging the platform back and forth with his shifting weight. At this moment in time, he is on a higher level than Tenko, and he relishes the indignation in her eyes as he looks down at her in the most condescending (and literal) way possible.

"You always just _act_ first before thinking. You don't even think a _little_ about the possibilities that could happen! Chabashira-chan, you're the type to get into troublesome situations like this, right? So in the end this situation is still your doing!"

"In Neo-Aikido or any other situation, there isn't any time to _think_ when someone else engages in combat with you!" she shouts back at him, standing her ground in the middle of the platform she is on. She hates the fact that she has to physically look up at him, so she burns this anger into his eyes with the most strength she can muster.

"In a killing game like this, no one _thinks_ before they commit heinous acts! No one thinks before they submit to the violence and darkness in their hearts! And when they _do_ think, their thoughts simply cloud their mind with doubts and suspicions! So if _they're_ not thinking, what's the point of Tenko thinking, as well? Tenko will act in their place, because action speaks _much louder_ than words!"

"Whoa," Kokichi suddenly says. "You could be, like, a motivational speaker in another life! And then you can even make a multi-million dollar business in greeting cards with your mushy, half-baked words printed on the front in bright colors!" A smile lights up his face, and he points down at Tenko in the most teasing manner possible.

"Muscle heads like you are the easiest to manipulate in a time like this! Don't you get it? In a killing game, it's the people that _think_ who really get ahead of everyone else. Then people like you, Momota-chan, and even _Yumeno-chan—_ the self-righteous, emotional types—are gonna get lost in their own delusions! And then you're gonna _die!_ " Kokichi gasps at the revelation, as if his words are just as surprising for him to hear as they are for Tenko to hear. "You're gonna _die_ and then what? Then you won't be able to think, act, or _do_ anything. Stupid Chabashira-chan!"

She feels that headache coming on, alright. She knows that his words have minced her logic to pieces, and that he's trying to wrap around her mind like a poisonous snake wrapping around a defeated mouse. She knows he's getting at something, but that is as far as her knowledge extends. He has her sorely beat in the thinking department, and no doubt if he continues he can even temporarily cloud _her mind_ with doubts and suspicion. Tenko's mind—that which has been seasoned over disciplined training throughout the years, that which has never failed her before despite her act-before-thinking mentality—is not impervious to corruption, despite her Neo-Aikido training assuring her that it'd be.

She gulps down the hesitation that forms in her throat, sticking to the inner walls like molasses. She hasn't gotten this far by doubting herself, and she will not go farther if she falls for the bait that Kokichi so obviously dangles in front of her face. Tenko will never understand his ways, and she will never understand why anyone—men, women, non binary folks, or not—would go through so much self-deception and corruption just to prove a point.

It almost saddens her. She lets her face fall into an honest grimace because of it.

"In any scenario, actions are what propel us forward!" These words are near echoes of her mentor's lessons, and she feels immense pride in reciting them before the supreme leader. She does not waver. "Actions are what save people! Thoughts are helpful, yes, but they never go far enough! You can think about things all you like! You can plot, lie, and be as much of a menace all you want! But what good are those thoughts if you never bring them to life?"

Another pause ensues, and she swears that something dark flashes by Kokichi's face. Maybe she has struck him somewhere that hurts. _Good,_ she thinks to herself. _He ought to feel what the rest of us have been feeling for so long!_

"If you never bring your thoughts to life, then there's no point in having them! There's no point in running yourself ragged or coming up with all these plans if they never work out in the end! That is why actions are better than thoughts, any day. People will forget the things you've said about them, and they will definitely forget the things you've plotted against them. But they will never forget what you _did_ to them, and they won't forget how you made them feel!"

Word for word, her mentor's lessons escape into the air. She has never spoken so much before—especially not to a menace like Kokichi—but for some reason she feels compelled to egg him on. For some reason, she can see that strange look in his eyes, and her gut tells her to keep talking because her words are _exactly_ what he needs to hear right now. For some reason, she lets him stand high above her, only to listen as the resounding _truth_ escape her mouth in full.

All of this happens for _some strange reason_. Tenko does not know the logic for it herself, and she simply watches Kokichi to see if he knows it, instead. Regardless of his reaction, though, she has the faintest feeling that her words are actually soaking into his being. With that resolve in mind, she yells out loudly:

"Tenko and the others will never forget the way you made them feel, even if you lie about it!"

"...Is that so?" Kokichi asks aloud, sounding only somewhat interested at the topic at hand. "What makes you so sure? Is it your pure heart that you claim to have, Chabashira-chan? I wonder~" his words are just a pace slower than usual, and while they have a noticeable, lyrical lilt in them, Tenko feels that they are still off, somehow.

She gulps nervously. "What are you getting at?"

"Well, I'm just thinking about what you'll do in a situation like this." He gestures to the high-rise platforms, and the large height in between them and the ground. She finally realizes their position after all this time, and she sees how one wrong move could lead to serious injury or—in the worst case scenario— _death._

Her chest feels hollow at the realization. Blood rushes through her ears and she wishes she were deaf just now. Slowly, she looks up again, and Tenko stares at Kokichi who seems entirely amused by this entire idea of falling.

"All that acting and not-thinking on your part has lead us here! With my advantage over you, I could easily throw you off and kill you right now! Even if you're way stronger than me, nothing is stronger than gra~vi~ty!" he sings the last notes as discordant harmonies which slide off his tongue, and his eyes gleam brightly in tandem. "And if you try to grab at me and stop me, well, I'll just take you down with me and then we'll _both_ die! Seems like you have no choice but to concede, Chabashira-chan~ You wouldn't want a death on your hands, after all!"

"Why you little…!" she growls at him, losing herself to the sincere anger that bubbles up inside of her. _This was his plan all along,_ she bemoans to herself. _He has fooled Tenko once more. And worse, he might cause one of us to die either way._

 _I knew it._

"But that won't work, will it?" Kokichi sighs out suddenly, mood changing immediately as his face grows dour and weary all at once. Tenko balks at the unexpected shift in emotions, but she ultimately does nothing to stop it.

He keeps talking. "No, you're so _predictable_ , Chabashira-chan, it's kinda lame! Yumeno-chan told you I was here, right? I saw her passing by earlier and she saw me. That's how you got here in the first place, no doubt."

"How did you know that? How did you even _think_ to know that?"

"She's really predictable, too," Kokichi merely explains, like that would instantly clear up any confusion on the matter. He sighs again—loudly, and more dramatically this time. "She told you I was here, so that's why you came running to stop me. That means there's at least one other person that knows where the two of us are right now."

"What are you implying?" Tenko asks, racking her brain for the answer ahead of time but failing. "What does Yumeno-san have to do with any of this?"

"She's an alibi and a witness, in a way," he tells her in a serious tone. "So, like, if I killed you right now, she would _definitely_ know it was me. And instantly knowing the truth for a class trial would be good for someone like me or Saihara-chan, but Yumeno-chan is too _dumb_ to get all the answers on a silver platter. But on the other hand, if we both die, she'll know that it was just the two of us in this dojo together, so she'll assume that we killed each other or that a third party intervened. The second option is totally _wrong,_ so in that case the whole class trial will get messed up and everyone else will die 'cause they can't figure it out."

"Ouma-san," Tenko temporarily drops the typical insult of _menace_ in light of the serious situation, her voice coming to a worried tone beneath her throat. "Ouma-san, what you are you saying?"

"I'm saying that this situation doesn't look good for either of us~ I guess I'll have to take a page from your lame-ass motivational book, Chabashira-chan!" Ouma smiles widely, and spreads his arms out as the platform underneath his feet sways dangerously. "You just told me that actions speak louder than words, right? Well, here goes nothing!"

"Ouma-san!"

She knows what he's going to do. He knows that she knows it, too, so he just laughs at her and ends his tirade where it is. No words escape his lips further, just brisk chuckles and giggles that break off in strings that sound completely pained and miserable. Then he teeters on his feet, hopping from one foot to another, balancing his weight ever so carefully in between the unsteady motions.

Then, Kokichi falls off the platform, and he does it so gracefully, like a ballerina dipping their whole body as they stretch downward to unknown lengths. He falls like a swan sinking into a lake, submerging their white feathers and beak into the murky depths below. He falls like a bungee cord, snapping in place and running free with the wind and sky and everything in between.

He falls.

And Chabashira reaches out to catch him. She hooks her leg around the hanging chain of her own platform, and swings the surface with all her might to propel herself forward—just enough so she can achieve what she means to do.

In her outstretched fingertips, she finds the fabric of Ouma's shirt somewhere, and she uses every muscle in her hand to clench hard and keep it there. Then the platform swings like a pendulum for a short amount of time, almost flipping over like a dislodged kayak as a sudden _weight_ on one side sinks it down at an angle. But it never truly capsizes, and Chabashira finds herself utterly relieved as she remains completely uninjured and entirely in one piece. Sure, she's half-dangling over the edge of the suspended platform, but the rest of her is grounded in place, and she has succeeded at her current goal.

Kokichi Ouma, the Ultimate Supreme Leader, is _literally_ hanging in the air with nothing but Tenko Chabashira—the Ultimate Aikido Master—as his support. His arm is thin enough that Tenko's entire fist can fit around it, and as such he cannot squirm free from her hold as he would like to. The initial struggle she feels against her muscle is a telling sign—he _wants_ to fall down to his death. He wants the suicide to take his body and turn it into another pawn in the killing game, so it can be used as a means of throwing another wrench into the machine that is this murderous madness. He wants to end it all.

But Tenko Chabashira is a very proactive girl. She doesn't care about whatever schemes are cooking in Kokichi's brain, and she certainly doesn't care about any regretful thoughts he has on the matter of being saved, either. She has always acted before thinking, and she does not plan to betray herself and her way of life anytime soon.

Instead, she meets Kokichi's venomous gaze with her own firm stare, and she almost, almost, _almost_ laughs in his face.

"Tenko thinks Kokichi should stick to thinking things out first," she says, lips curling into a strange grin. "You're not very suited to acting things out, are you?"

"No," he agrees with her, strangely enough, and a wide smile crosses his face to match her own. "I guess I'm not."

Moments later, and Tenko pulls Kokichi up to her level. He's shaking slightly and she doesn't care for it, so instead she wordlessly pulls him along, and takes him over the other platforms to return to the lowest one of them all. Then she hops off the bottom platform, and lands perfectly still on the tatami mats without any injury. She dusts off her skirt, and turns around as she waits for Kokichi to do the same.

He hesitates at first, judging the distance from the lowest platform to the ground below. While he is certainly agile and lithe, the only thing stopping him from doing an awesome backflip in the air is the vague idea of _getting hurt._ She can see as much in his eyes, as the purple irises have clouded over with worried thoughts alike. Tenko sighs at the display— _this_ is what she means when she says that thoughts can hold people back so easily at times. If Kokichi could just go and _do it,_ then he doesn't have to worry about getting hurt or not.

"Chabashira-chan, I suddenly feel tired. I don't think I can jump down this platform without breaking a bone, or something."

"Then let your bones break," she says monotonously. "Just hurry it up."

"S-So mean," he fake cries at her, stuttering for extra emphasis. He sees that it doesn't work, and Kokichi just sighs at the revelation. His sadness is replaced by boredom. "Okay, I'll be honest for _just a bit_ because I'm tired of how easily you fall for my lies. I really don't want to jump down and hurt myself here."

"Tenko will catch you. She will catch you on the condition that you literally never tell anyone about this again." She pauses thoughtfully, then tacks on the end: "And you must promise Tenko that you will not try to kill yourself in her dojo again!"

"So I can kill myself anywhere else and you'll be okay with it?"

" _Ouma-san,"_ she hisses his name out in a lethal manner. "Don't joke around."

"Fine, fine. Catch me, Chabashira-chan!"

He leaps out without hesitating, body flailing in the air from the drop. Tenko does good on her promise, though, and she catches the smaller boy in her arms as he crashes into her with full force. She barely staggers—his weight is nearly next to nothing—and simply puts him back up on his feet when he is down at her level.

As he dusts his clothes off and steps away from her, the doors to the dojo open. As fate would have it, Himiko Yumeno remains at the entrance with a half-worried look on her face. "I was on my way to my dorm to recharge my MP levels when I thought about checking up on you, Tenko." She glances between the two other students, and a tiny frown crosses her face.

"Ouma? What are you doing here? What's going on?"

Kokichi and Tenko stare at each other for a good moment. While neither of them immediately say or do anything, there is a look of mutual understanding on both of their faces. They bring together thoughts _and_ actions in one entity, as they turn to Himiko with easy smiles on their faces.

"Nothing," they chorus.

* * *

 **Tsumugi Shirogane**

* * *

"Shirogane-chan, you're not watching porn in here, are you?"

Tsumugi turns on her heels, and is face to face with the Ultimate Headache, Kokichi Ouma. She laughs to herself thinking that he plays the role of "little shit" in their cast all too well, and how she usually adores characters like him in any anime, manga, or video game. But her tastes in fictional men differ wildly from her preferred type in real life, and she finds herself reacting in the same way that anyone else would react to Ouma's antics.

She dismisses him with complete and utter annoyance. "I'm not doing anything like that," she says sourly. She doesn't snap at him, but the intention is there all the same. "I'm too plain for something that outrageously scandalous! And just because there's adultery stuff in the AV room doesn't mean that anyone's watching it!"

Tsumugi gestures to the tall shelves stacked with a plethora of discs. All of which contain hundreds of movies, documentaries, TV shows, and home videos. Of course, there's the pornography there, too, with triple Xs across the labels and half-shoddy covers of naked women on the front. Tsumugi would never dare think to touch one of _those,_ and it disgusts her to know that Kokichi would suggest such a thing.

He laughs and throws his hands behind his head in a carefree manner. "Nishishi! I knew that, of course! You're too plain to be doing filthy stuff like that. Although I wouldn't be surprised if you were secretly dark and murderous, after all."

"...Do you want something from me, Ouma-kun? Or are you just bothering me for no reason?"

"Ouch, no need to sound so hurt, Shirogane-chan! I was lying, of course." He smiles widely at her, bringing his hands back down to his side where they rest themselves on his hips. He leans forward and stares, face painted with a rather cheeky expression. "I was lying about you watching porn, not that you're probably really scary on the inside!"

She sighs deeply. For all his perceptiveness and knowledge of people, he really _does_ love throwing around baseless claims, doesn't he? She bears this unsaid meaning into her words as she speaks. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're trying to make me angry. Or worse, that you're trying to start up the killing game!" Her lips fall into a deeply etched frown, and her body shakes at the mere thought of it.

"I-Is that what you're doing, Ouma-kun? You're not gonna try to kill me, are you?"

"..." He doesn't respond right away. The smile fades from his face, but he does not overtly frown like she expects him to. Rather, his countenance is passive and utterly void of emotion, and he speaks in the most neutral tone possible. "Of course not. But even if I _was_ trying to kill you, I don't think I'd talk to you about it so openly."

"...You have a point there," she concedes. "Well, s-seriously though! What do you want, Ouma-kun?"

"Eh? Isn't it obvious? What else would I be doing in the AV room except for watching videos?" A light smile crosses his face again, and he giggles at the confusion that stirs in the girl's face. "I was gonna hole up in here and binge watch anime! I didn't expect to see you down here, too!"

She exhales a worried breath. A hand reaches up to her chest to stay her rapid heartbeat, and once she finds the resolve to stay calm, Tsumugi answers Kokichi in full. "Is that it? Well, strangely enough, I was planning the same thing!" Her eyes light up at the thought of the fictional characters she so adores, and she clasps her hands together in dreamy movements.

"I love anime! I love most media, but anime is the most fun thing to cosplay! When we first arrived here, I was so worried that we wouldn't have access to normal stuff like books or TV...but I'm so glad that's not the case anymore!"

"Yeah, well, this place is pretty stocked up, huh? I was gonna leave since you were here, _buuut…_ "

"But what?" Tsumugi asks, genuine concern painting over her voice. "What is it?"

"Well, we can watch shows _together!_ As the Ultimate Cosplayer, you're just one step away from being the Ultimate Otaku, right? So you probably know a lot of shows and stuff, don'tcha?" He laughs at his own findings, and at the tiny scowl that appears on Tsumugi's face.

 _I am_ not _an otaku!_ She thinks to herself angrily. _Cosplay is_ much _different than that!_

"It's true that I know a lot about different series," she says. "But I'm far from being an otaku! I'm not a NEET, either, so don't get my talent mixed up! I'll have you know that cosplay is a huge social deal, not to mention it requires a lot of craft and dexterity." One of her fingers raises itself as she iterates her point. "I mostly watch shows for fun, but also to look at the character's clothing as reference."

"Ooh, so I get to see your talent in the works, then! Or I get to see if you have _trash taste_ in anime or not!"

"My taste in media is pretty good!" Tsumugi insists. "It's far from trash!"

"Prove it to me!" Kokichi demands in a cheerful voice. "But fair warning: if you start off with _Sword Art Online_ or _Attack on Titan,_ you automatically have trash taste."

"Even _I_ know _that,"_ Tsumugi groans, and walks over to the media library with a thoughtful look. "I have great taste, as a matter of fact. Which genre do you want to start off with, Kokichi? I'm well-versed, after all!"

"Something sad!" he decides quickly. "Bring me to tears, Shirogane-chan. If you can't, then I'll actually have to kill you for wasting my time, y'know?"

She shudders at the thought, and turns around to give him a knowing eye. "Y-You're lying, right? If you are, that's not very funny, Ouma-kun…"

"I can't even give you credit for seeing through such an obvious lie!" Kokichi agrees in a way that makes Tsumugi's cheeks flare with indignant shades of red. "C'mon, Shirogane-chan! Do you see any weapons on me? What am I gonna kill you with, huh?" He reaches for a throw pillow on one of the couches, and tosses it in her direction. "Am I gonna smother you to death with this, maybe? Not that that would work since you're bigger than me!"

"It's a possibility," she insists, fingers hesitating over one of the DVD cases. She pulls it off the shelf before continuing to speak. "But there's no way that the killing game would start over something as silly as _that._ "

"But death by asphyxiation is pretty common, isn't it? Plus there's the fact that as long as the killing game starts, then anything goes!"

"So then don't start the game at all if you're so sure about it," she mumbles. "Sit down while we watch a classic."

"Aw, but classic anime is _boring,"_ he says, contradicting himself as he sits down on one of the couches with the utmost intent of watching whatever show she picks out. "Classics are so silly and underrated, too! How unfair!"

"The fact that we're watching anime is already silly," she reminds him. "But it's not a classic at all. In fact, it's not even a few years old yet in terms of how long it's been out."

Tsumugi ignores any further comments as she sets up the show for them to watch. For a few minutes, she fiddles with the TV controls, and when the screen blinks on in its entirety, she hums to herself triumphantly. She pushes a strand of long blue hair behind her ears as she reaches down and sets the disc in the reader.

" _Death Parade_ ," Kokichi mouths the words as the title of the chosen anime flashes across the screen. "Just because an anime has the word _death_ in it doesn't make it sad!"

"I know," Tsumugi agrees. "But this time, it really _is_ a sad one. You might not cry, but you'll _definitely_ feel broken up inside by the end of it."

" _Sure,_ " he says sarcastically. "And by the end of it, Monokuma-chan will pop out from the screen, and tell us all that this killing game is just a big, elaborate joke. He'll send us home and apologize for the inconvenience, certainly."

"Shush!" Tsumugi scolds Kokichi, and pushes him into silence as she crashes down onto the couch right next to him. Her sudden and forceful body movements surprise him enough that he forgets about whatever snarky reply he has waiting for her in the back of his throat.

He notices that she has a tote bag with her, and he can see a multitude of snacks and drinks inside, as well as a sketchbook and several notebooks. Tsumugi takes everything out from the bag and lays it on the console table before them. "Here's some snacks. Feel free to have as much as you want! I don't usually eat and take notes at the same time."

Then she pulls out one of the notebooks, flips to a blank page, and rests the pad against her knees as she draws them up to her chest. Tsumugi also pulls a pencil out from the wire spiral, and clicks the lead out to the desired length. All the while, Kokichi simply watches her with a vague sense of intrigue.

He scoffs. "You weren't kidding about taking notes? How boring!"

"I am a plain girl, after all…" she mutters. "But this is my hobby and soon-to-be forte. Here, I'll start up the first episode, okay?" One click of the remote does it, and soon enough the first episode of _Death Parade_ starts playing. Contrary to its obviously morose title, the opening theme is bright and cheery.

Kokichi snickers at the contrast, and reaches for a bottle of soda on the table. He twists the cap open and smiles at the sound of sizzling carbonation. Then he takes several sips, and when he's done he places it back on the table. Several bags of chips are opened in the next minute or so, and he shifts only a few centimeters away from Tsumugi's close proximity. In doing so, she looks at him to see if he's embarrassed by her body being so close to his, but she finds nothing in his face except for focus on the show at hand.

No, strangely enough, Kokichi moves just to make himself more comfortable in the smallest of ways. Otherwise, he is so close to Tsumugi that their arms could have melted into each other, and he could rest his head into the crook of her shoulder if need be. But the show has just started, and the barriers between them are still in place. Tsumugi understands this, too, so she tears her eyes away from her watching companion, and keeps them ahead of her all the same.

The episode starts, and Tsumugi brings the tip of the pencil to the first line on the clean page.

She smiles.

.

.

"This show is messed up!"

"I told you it was sad, right?"

"She was just trying to save her husband! That Decim guy is as dense as they come! He sent her to hell, and—"

"I know, right? I know exactly how you feel! That bittersweet feeling in the end, the looks on that happy couple's face...isn't it something?"

"It's really screwed up!"

"It gets worse, y'know."

"Does it?"

"Yeah, so we don't have to keep watching if you're not up for it. Besides, we should probably head back..."

"Are you kidding me? I need to see what happens! I told you I came here to binge-watch, right? So I'm not leaving until I finish this series completely!"

"Heehee, why'd I know you'd say that? Probably because that was me when I first saw this. Okay, I'll start up episode two."

"Awesome. Also, Shirogane-chan, are you on a diet?"

"What?"

"I know you said that you don't eat while you take cosplay reference notes, but there's a _lot_ of snacks here. You can afford to have some chips and stuff, y'know."

"I didn't know you cared about me enough to say that, Ouma-kun!"

"Don't get me wrong, I really _don't_ care about you that much. But dying via starvation is so lame, right? So that's why you gotta keep your strength up! Plus, it's more gorey and awesome if you get eviscerated when there's something inside your tummy, because then it just _squelches_ out and everyone can see the broken down matter—"

"If you don't stop being gross right now, I'm gonna switch over to something stupid. Something worse than _Attack on Titan_ or _Sword Art Online._ "

"Oh, boy, worse than _that?_ Consider me stopped, then!"

"Good! Alright, pass the chips, and I'll start up episode two…"

.

.

Their marathon doesn't stop at Death Parade. At the end of it, Kokichi ends up surprisingly tear-free (at least, he's free of _genuine_ tears—the crocodile crying had occurred too many times to count) but Tsumugi ends up broken down in the last two episodes, respectively. Even if she has seen this series multiple times before, it never fails to send her heart into wired frenzy.

The feelings of hope and despair coming together in one clashing entity is nothing short of satisfying. She smiles at the thought of it through her tears.

And then Kokichi insists they keep watching stuff, so Tsumugi pulls out all the stops. An interesting show about a girl who can fight off demons with her own blood, a lighthearted idol anime about a group of schoolgirls coming together to save their closing high school, and a bloody spectacle about carnivorous beasts living among normal humans are just _some_ of the series they go through. Most of them are thirteen episodes long, although others range from twenty-six to fifty. They burn through the shorter series first, occasionally taking breaks to go to the bathroom or to restock on snacks and supplies.

The two of them raid the warehouse at some point, too. Tsumugi finds tiny sewing kits and basic crafting supplies. Without access to her research lab, she has to settle for the bare essentials of her craft. On the other hand, Kokichi finds some blankets and extra pillows in a stack somewhere, along with several monocoins which he uses to exchange for some weird stuff at the student store. Some delicious boba tea, for one, followed by a book grossly detailing several strange ways to die, as well as a space blanket that seems so uncomfortable but is actually pretty awesome at preserving heat and the like.

They take their items back to the AV room, which they have practically turned into their little lair for the time being. It's fine, they think, because the killing game hasn't started yet and people are too nervous to be doing what they're doing—people are too nervous to be watching anime and other shows without worrying about their general safety.

Of course, Tsumugi _does_ worry. Amid Kokichi's bounty of items from the student store and warehouse are plenty of things that can be used to kill her, but he almost kills _himself_ underneath the weight of carrying it all, and there is a strange _lightness_ in his voice that indicates that maybe—just _maybe_ —he's genuinely enjoying his experience with her.

Nevertheless, they turn the viewing marathon into a full-on spectacle, transforming the AV room to their domain and pillow fort as they set up the couches to their heart's desire. There is a large pile of Kokichi's things that look haphazard at best, not to mention the mannequins off to the side that Tsumugi uses for reference when she's sketching a cosplay design. The two of them are an unlikely force, but they look like partners in crime as they pore over anime and movies alike.

They both eat the same snacks and drink the same drinks, and at some point Tsumugi turns herself into the honorary "bottle-opener", opening the caps that are deemed too tight for Kokichi to twist off himself. Then they fall into the harmony that is watching the screen with interested eyes, and at the end of each episode they break out into chatty reviews of what they've just seen, usually with opposite reactions or entirely similar reactions depending on the content.

For a short moment in time, Tsumugi really enjoys herself.

She even forgets about the passage of time, and when her eyes glance to a clock nearby, she can see that it's _four in the morning_ : but on _which_ day of their movie marathon? The second day? The third? She shudders at the realization that she and Kokichi have gone too far into their binge watching, and she suddenly remembers the multitude of faces that have appeared in the AV room during different times out of worry.

Kaede Akamatsu, for one. Rantarou Amami, for another. Even Shuuichi Saihara had stumbled in at some point, only to find himself face-to-face with a gruelling murder scene on the large viewing screen, to which he ran out of the room as fast as he could. Then Angie wandered in because Tsumugi took the last of the art mannequins, so she demanded to take one of them with her lest her God strike them all down otherwise.

But overall, no one has been able to convince Tsumugi or Kokichi that they should stop watching anime. So that responsibility falls to either Tsumugi or Kokichi themselves, and seeing that Kokichi has gotten so absorbed into things then that leaves the honor of stopping goes to Tsumugi. She turns the TV off, and stretches her arms which have cramped with continual use. Her notebooks are pretty full of good observations and sketch designs, and she's halfway done sewing a shirt to resemble the outfit of one of the protagonists on the show they just watched. All in all, she chalks it up to a productive day, and she turns to Kokichi to tell him that they should turn in for the night…

...Only to find Kokichi to be completely _asleep_. He's a few inches away from napping on her shoulder, and when she hesitates in thinking it's a joke, his closed eyes and peaceful face indicate the sincerity of his unconscious state. His head rolls to the side slightly, and his flippant hair brushes against Tsumugi's arm with brisk touches.

Shirogane moves her eyes from his sleeping figure, and they land on the sewing needles, scissors, and pins ahead of her. Any one of those objects can be used to kill Ouma in this very moment. She has the skill to use them with precision, and while it might hurt for him to suddenly awake and find himself impaled or to see his throat slit, it would not take very long for him to succumb to the injury itself. Then the killing game would start, and everything would fall into place shortly thereafter.

Then she thinks it's a rather boring idea, and several people have already come in and out of the room to know that Kokichi and Tsumugi were the only ones there the entire time. If she kills him, they would immediately suspect her. The trial would be quick, short, and expected. The horrors would be trite and unoriginal, and nothing would kill the mood more than such a lackluster start to something that could be so _great_ and so _legendary._

There's also a small part of her just really, really _doesn't_ want to kill him—at least not right _now._ She really has had so much fun watching shows with him, it would seem unfair if she acted out of character in an attempt to slake a momentary thirst.

So she decides to abandon the idea of killing Kokichi. She figures that she doesn't have to get her hands dirty right away, and rather she can just resume her existence as a plain girl with plain interests. She can be by his side for now, and no one would think any more of her than they usually do, what with his charismatic self casting shadows over her lukewarm personality. Tsumugi can just continue to exist, and there would be no need to complicate things further. With that resolve, she smiles to herself, and leans back into the couch as much as she can.

She carefully tilts Ouma's body, so his head ends up leaning on her shoulder, after all. He's snoring lightly now, but she doesn't mind it as a cloudy exhaustion covers her mind, too. No doubt she'll join him soon, losing her consciousness in a dreamland that consists of nothing but blood from fictional characters, spilling out in comical splashes or draining out in torturous movements. She'll dream of nothing but protagonists, antagonists, anti-heroes and deuteragonists. She'll think of nothing except for flashy fonts and title screens, and hear nothing but inspiring songs and sad ending themes. She'll see nothing except bright colors and monochrome all at once, with a huge crowd of characters standing before her with expectant smiles.

Tsumugi Shirogane sleeps with Kokichi Ouma's head on her shoulder, and she decides that she doesn't mind it at all. It's just another cute cutscene in their unexpected story together.

.

.

That night, her dreams are everything she expects them to be and more. In addition to her feverish anime characters coming alive, she sees Kokichi there, too. He's a bright amalgamation and a dark shadow all at once. He's smiling at her, yet crying because of her all the same. In those violet eyes, she sees nothing but desperation and despair—yet they shine with something hopeful and wondrous, as well.

Kokichi Ouma laughs at her in the dream, and she responds by taking an imaginary knife and cutting him to pieces.

He still laughs as he is dismembered before her eyes, and the sound echoes in her head nonstop. She screams herself into a fit, but remains utterly asleep as she cannot control her brain's decision to keep dreaming or not.

Tsumugi Shirogane actually wakes up from her dream shortly thereafter. She looks to see Kokichi Ouma still fast asleep, spread out on the far side of the couch with a blanket cocoon wrapped around him. For a moment, she considers killing him again, using one of the pillows he mentioned earlier as a means of suffocating him—using it as an attempt to prevent his ugly laughter from ever reaching her ears again.

Of course, the illusion is broken, because Kirumi Toujou is suddenly there, and the maid advises to her how the two of them shouldn't stay up so late, and that she will help assist in the cleanup of the AV room as they've surely left it as one big mess. The illusion is broken, the opportunity for murder passes, and Tsumugi's hands tighten into angry fists.

She leaves Kokichi Ouma where he is as she stands to her own two feet. She steps on fallen chips, effectively splintering them into crumb-like pieces on the floor. She knocks over soda bottles, and lets their sugar-filled contents spill out in large amounts. She kicks at the extra blankets, those that are discarded on the floor and take up too much space. She ignores Kirumi Toujou's concerned words that follow routinely afterward. She thinks of nothing as she grabs her tote bag, and carries her cosplay work with her in one full sweep.

As Tsumugi Shirogane leaves the AV room, Kokichi Ouma snores loudly from his place on the couch.

The killing game starts exactly one day later.

* * *

 **Himiko Yumeno**

* * *

She doesn't expect to see him in her research lab, of all places. Given the recent trial and its outcome, she's sure that he would hide away in his room, or disappear from the sight of others altogether. _If he has any shame in his body, he'd stay away from me and everyone else right now,_ she thinks. Although it is painfully obvious that he hasn't a single ounce of shame in his being at all.

If he _does_ feel some remorse over what happened, he is very good at hiding it.

Despite what Himiko knows about Kokichi, she never stops to think how he might still want to seek out conflict, even after everything he has done. For Kokichi Ouma, the Ultimate Supreme Leader, to be present in the Ultimate Magician Lab is nothing short of _shocking_. Himiko Yumeno surmises that she might be dreaming, but the reality is that Kokichi really _is_ in front of her right now, smiling in such an unbothered state that it's as if the fourth class trial never even happened. It's as if their relationship is exactly the same as before—as if Himiko's rose-colored eyes hold only a general contempt and mild confusion for him, but not garnering any serious animosity beyond that.

It's as if everything so far has been a _lie, b_ ut she knows that's not the truth.

"Go away, Ouma," she tells him in a low, tired voice. Any resentment she wants to throw in his direction dies weakly in her throat. Her head is lightweight and her feet move with less certainty than that. All in all, she is very _tired_ to the point where she can't even hope to muster up the strength to hate him right now.

"No," he says. "You can't _make me_ leave. Well, you can kill me and after I die, then you could technically move my dead body wherever and however you want. So, like, in _that case_ you can make me. But _otherwise…_ " His eyes wander over to hers after having been affixed to his fingers with vague inspection, but even then she can't read the strange expression that resides there.

Yumeno frowns. "Why?"

"Why what?" Ouma asks.

"Why are you always saying things like that? You're always joking about death and stuff... _why?"_ her voice cracks beneath its own weight, and it takes every bit of her willpower to quell the tears that want to form in the corners of her eyes and spill out. Even if she had cried her heart out less than a day earlier, her soul contains an unfathomable amount of _grief_ and _emotionality_ from the trial's outcome. Her mind whispers the names _Tenko_ and _Angie_ over and over again, and she tries her best to not break down right there and then.

With a sharp inhale, she continues to speak. "Ouma, why are you like this?"

"Hmm? Like what? We're days and weeks into this killing game, Yumeno-chan. Isn't it natural by now that I've gotten used to the death and everything? Maybe _you're_ the weird one for being so bothered by it, still." His voice lacks an expected malice, and instead he seems light and cheery as a smile graces his features. His eyes gleam in tandem with the bright expression, shining with some sort of emotion that Yumeno can't think to place.

It physically _hurts_ to talk to him. She feels so unguarded yet so defensive all at once, like a fencer that can't anticipate the opponent's parry or strike. Should she try to block out Ouma's invasive words from her head, or should she shoot him down with some aggression on her end? Would either outcome play the way she wants it to, or would she be going along with his expectations of her—that which goes off his seemingly omniscient level of analysis towards the world around him? A shiver climbs up her back, and her tongue goes dry with all the words she _wants_ to say but doesn't.

Himiko feels like a stranger in her own body. She suddenly wishes that her magic wasn't so temperamental, and that she hadn't spent all her mana reserves earlier in the day on mundane things. She wishes that she had enough MP to zap Kokichi away like lightning unto a fly, or to turn him into a nasty frog as a punishment for his neverending impertinence.

She wishes, she wishes, she _wishes._

"You're lying again, aren't you?" Himiko asks, hands balling up into irritated fists by her side. "That's just another one of your lies, isn't it?"

"Maybe," Kokichi says as he considers the possibility. "Anything I say could be a lie. Like, I could tell you right now that the reason I'm here is that I'm actually plotting to kill _you,_ Yumeno-chan. Or maybe I'm here because I'm gambling on the chance that you might, might, _might_ listen to me without brushing me off immediately."

She wants to interrupt him with an angry bout, but he continues speaking at a rapid-fire pace. That's something she'll never be able to match him for: his speed and ease at which he masterfully crafts all his words and lies.

He continues. "Maybe I'm here because I'm actually really tired of everything, and the candlelit atmosphere in your research lab is pretty comforting. Maybe I'm here to check up on you, because I don't know if you noticed, but you and I are the only people left on our little side of the courtroom, there's only empty spaces to our left and right for the most part. And maybe I don't want you to become another x'd out portrait on a stand, doing nothing except for reminding me about all the times we failed to save someone. And _maybe_ —just _maybe_ —I wasn't lying when I said I hate murder and violence before. Maybe."

When he's finally done—when the words have wrapped around her like rope tightening her heart, mind, and soul—Himiko can do nothing but stare. She's not half as eloquent or overwhelming as he is, but she isn't the goddamned idiot he always accuses her of being, either. She takes her time to dissect his lies, to mull over the long string of sentences he's given her in an attempt to decipher which part of that speech might be true or not.

It's times like these that make her want to temporarily borrow Saihara's magic. Out of all the original students gathered there, the detective is the only one that appears semi-fluent in the language of _Ouma._

"W-Well, what if you're lying about everything you said just now?" she points at him accusingly, brows furrowing in an angry form on her face. "If you're lying about being used to the killing game, then can't you be lying about hating it, too? If you lied about _not_ caring about everyone, you could lie about _caring_ about them and whatever…"

Kokichi ponders this for a few seconds at most, before he expertly counters her yet again. "Yumeno-chan, I can't be lying about _both things,_ y'know. I either love this killing game or I hate it—I either don't give a shit about you guys or I give too many—there's no in between when it comes to stuff like that. There's no point in being _neutral_ when it comes to this war of life versus death." He doesn't look away as he bores his intensely violet eyes into hers, although she wishes he would because her own rose-colored irises seem to dim underneath the contact of it all.

"This is exactly what I mean," she whines. " _Why_ are you like this? My head hurts just from talking to you, and I don't have enough mana to restore myself." Himiko scratches at her hair, gently shifting the hat on her head at a wider angle. She continues talking. "Just be _honest_ for once, and then maybe—"

"Then maybe _what?"_

"Then maybe everyone wouldn't hate you!" she snaps, finally pushed past her emotional and mental tolerance levels. Her face flushes with indignation, and her eyes burn with a renewed fury. "If you would just stop lying and messing around with people, then they wouldn't hate you so much!"

"But would you _really_ stop hating me once I quit lying?" he asks her this so gently and quietly that she's afraid of how easily his mood can change and how _kind-hearted_ he suddenly seems. It makes her think that she's been too harsh with him. "If I suddenly come clean about everything, and you all somehow believed me when I did that, would it even get you to change your opinion about me at all?" A smile reappears on his face, and he leans forward with a slight fervor coating over his voice. "Would it?"

"...No," she admits, taking a step back from him. "No, even after all that, I don't think it would change anything, Ouma. Because no matter what you do, all that matters is that you're the one that got Gonta and Iruma killed. _You're_ the one that's been saying mean things and being so awful since the beginning. S-So even if you stopped lying to me or everyone else, it wouldn't really matter." She gasps for air at the end of her long-winded sentences ( _but I'll keep talking even if it's a pain, because I promised Tenko and Angie that I'd become stronger)_ and reiterates herself at last.

"It wouldn't matter, Ouma."

"I know it wouldn't," he echoes her. "But that's what I've been saying this whole time. _You're_ the one that made it sound like it could actually happen." Kokichi laughs softly, and for some reason Himiko's chest reverberates with a bitter _sadness._ He smiles at her again, and she screams internally for him to stop playing with her emotions— _again_. "But it's the thought that counts, right?"

"You lost me," she says. "And I'm tired. So if you don't really want anything from me and if you're not going to kill me, then you should just go. I don't want the others to know that I've been seeing a rival mage like you!"

"Ah, the classic 'us versus them' mentality. How boring and predictable," he laments, staring at the bitten ends of his fingernails once more. She thinks he does this when he genuinely loses interest in conversation, but there's no way for her to be sure. "Can't say I didn't expect it, though. Just 'cause Gonta killed Iruma-chan on his own and just 'cause I was there when it happened, suddenly _I'm_ the bad guy here—"

"I said to _leave_ if you're gonna act like that!" Himiko shouts, feeling indignant, vicious, and wronged all over again. "I'm too tired to think anymore, so go away and stop messing with me already!"

"Well, if that's all you want—and if you're as tired as you say—then how about this? How about tonight, we pretend that none of that even matters!"

"H-Huh?" she gapes at him, a deeply confused and bothered expression etching itself into her eyes. "What do you mean, Ouma?"

"I mean, let's forget about this whole killing game for a little while, Yumeno-chan. Let's just hang out for now, okay?" Kokichi's smile returns, but it appears to be much more tame than Himiko remembers it being. He continues. " _I'm_ tired, _you're_ tired, everyone's just exhausted, huh? So let's forget all that mushy talk and just rest tonight."

She knows what he intends to do, now. She can hear the half-spoken _truce_ in his words. She can see the tiny desperation in his eyes. Neither of those things are unfamiliar, though. Himiko is sure that she's seen them before, those little hints of disparity that emit from his very body.

She's spoken the same way—looked at people the same way—back when Tenko just died and all she wanted people to do was to _understand_ her. It's the same thing that's happening right now.

It's the only thing that makes her relent to his incessantly annoying ways. "Fine. Come on over, then, and take a seat on the carpet. It's not as uncomfortable as it looks, actually. We can recharge our MP levels together." As she speaks, she goes over to one of the wooden tables off to the side of the room, and brings back several candles while placing them on the ground where they convene together. Then she gets out some matches, and sets the wicks aflame.

Kokichi sits down on the floor cross-legged, placing one hand under his chin to hold it up and keeping the other hand resting at his side. He watches Himiko with mild curiosity as she sets up the candles around them, until the dimly lit room comes alive with pale yellow light. In the midst of the flickering flames, Himiko swears she sees exhaustion pooling in the bruises of his eyes. If it's actually there, then she doesn't blame him, because she's no less miserable as she sits down across from him—folded in at her knees as her skirt smooths itself out at flat angles.

It's quiet. After what must have been loud, noisy bantering on their end, the whole lab has become nothing but the sound of their battered breaths echoing against the brick walls, and the meek noise of their feet scuffing the carpet when they move every now and then.

It's quiet, until Kokichi starts humming underneath his breath. Himiko recognizes the song, however, because together with Kokichi, Shuuichi, and Korekiyo, she had been singing it not too long ago. The recent tune and the grim events it's now associated with become clear in her mind, and she chokes up on the sadness that builds in her throat.

Ouma keeps humming, but his presence more or less disappears in Yumeno's mind as she lies down on the floor, and sobs silently to herself. She doesn't think it would be possible to still have tears left in her body since Tenko and Angie died, but she proves herself wrong in an instant. She cries as The Caged Child song reverberates in her head and ears, and she cries even harder than that when she realizes that she's started singing along, too.

Then she feels something like a thick and warm cloth ( _Blanket? Curtain? Rug?)_ cover her body, and her legs don't feel as cold now that they have a second covering over the tights she normally wears. The world is sideways in her vision because she's lying down, but she can still make out the warm shape of melting candles, and the glimmering outline of Kokichi's face and body as he lies down on the floor _with_ her—covered in an identical blanket-curtain-rug like she is, staring softly in her direction as the exhaustion she guesses he showed before becomes _real_ and formulates as shapes of tired darkness in the bright rounds of his eyes.

They half-sing, half-hum the now-saddened song together, and Himiko rubs at her eyes until they've gone dry again.

Somewhere along the line, the flames of the candles go out, and the entire room is submerged in sightless darkness once more. It's fine, though, because Himiko's eyes have already closed by then, and she's cried herself to sleep with the dying notes of the song leaving her lips in tired puffs.

Kokichi might be sleeping, too, and Himiko won't blame him this time around even if he's a liar, because no matter what he conceals away in his chained-up heart, nothing can hide the fatigue that hangs over him like a shadow.

The song ends, and they're both peaceful, now, with their chests syncopating to the peaceful rise-and-fall of slumber as the night envelops them both.

It's quiet.

.

.

In the morning, Himiko wakes up to see that the candles have been put away, and that she remains as a singular blanket ( _it's actually a blanket and not a curtain,_ she thinks to herself, relieved but also curious as she can't remember when Ouma went into her supply cabinets last night _)_ bundle on the floor. Kokichi is nowhere to be found, but it's just as well considering it was a one-night-truce on his end, and that once the moment of tranquility ends between them, they'll go back to how they were before and it'll be like nothing changed at all.

Despite this, Yumeno feels sad, and she's not sure why. She is fairly new to the honest-emotions game, but she plays it a little bit anyway, as she assesses where the somber feelings come from. Maybe she's sad because she thinks that if things turned out a bit differently—if this game never started, if her friends never died—then she could be hanging out with Ouma all the time without worrying about what her reputation will become if she's seen around somebody as dangerous as him. They could joke around with each other and hole away together in the Ultimate Magician Lab like they did last night; they could sing songs and restore their MP levels without fear of what the morning after will bring.

If things were just a _little bit_ different, Himiko might even _like_ Kokichi, and she might even like the way he smiles and tries to encourage her to be stronger—in that mean-spirited way he likes doing things, anyway.

The sad part is that things _aren't_ different like that, and their reality is as stark as the killing game around them. Himiko accepts this as something that inevitably won't change, and starts going back to her dorm room where she can shower and start her day off _right_ , hoping that the hot water will cleanse her muddy thoughts and ease her tired body.

It's not quiet anymore, but she welcomes the noise all the same.

.

.

Days later, Kokichi's body is crushed to nothing but violent splatters of blood that will never do him justice in representing the full and lively person he _used_ to be. During the trial, Himiko just _knows_ that Kokichi is the one inside the hydraulic press. The one in the Exisal can pretend to be Kokichi all they like, but she knows his true laughter and ugly truths as much as she knows her own tricks.

Himiko doesn't cry over his death, however. But the night following the end of the fifth trial, she starts singing The Caged Child song under her breath, and finds herself thinking that it's too sad of a song to be singing by herself.

She waits for a cutely low but quiet voice to join in her singing, but it never does.

He never does.


	4. Kiibo, Rantarou, Kaede

**_This chapter has been rewritten and edited as of 19th October, 2018. The author's notes remain unchanged, however._**

 _Note: Hey there! Sorry that this update is so long-in-coming, college is so so busying and life is even busier than that. I had Kiibo's part written out for the longest time, but the other two were harder to create. Unfortunately, my writing comes across as inconsistent throughout this whole thing, and I felt really poetic during these segments? I dunno, just forgive me for that!_

 _And without further ado, here is the guide for this chapter._

K1-B0 (Kiibo): this part takes place **_during the investigation for chapter three_** , so there are major spoilers there. Also, there are semi-vivid descriptions of injury, so be careful with that.

RANTARO AMAMI: this part takes place during chapter one, _**after the (bullshit) time limit is given at the beginning.**_ There are spoilers for the first investigation period (I mean, is there any point at mentioning spoilers? This game's been out for over a year, now.) so there's that.

KAEDE AKAMATSU: this part takes place **_during the investigation for chapter one_** , so there are major spoilers there. Also, there is semi-vivid imagery of death.

* * *

 **K1-B0 (Kiibo)**

* * *

Kiibo thinks that it's been a long day. Angie—his beloved student council president, but more importantly his _friend_ —has already been killed earlier, and now Tenko's body lies in a murdered heap on the floor in the same fashion. Two deaths have occurred in a singular instance in the killing game, and Kiibo thinks that that horrible truth makes today more tiring than usual. He's not necessarily exhausted himself, but he can see hesitation and fatigue pooling in the weary eyes of the others. He can see downcast stares and distraught mouths, all lowering into sadly disappointed shapes before him.

He sees it all, and sometimes wishes that he didn't. _But it's okay,_ the helpful voice inside of him says. _We'll be okay if we do this together! Let's assist them with this investigation!_

It's the same helpful voice that has lead him on the right path for the most part, so he doesn't think it's wise to go against it for now. With a content smile on his face, Kiibo lends his hands towards the investigation. He talks to others and begins to corroborate alibis, but more importantly he shows off his functionality with his newly installed flashlight eyes and a photographic printer via his mouth.

Per Shuuichi's request, Kiibo provides a printed picture of the seance circle, one drawn with purified salt and crafted by Korekiyo's steady hand. Once the evidence is in place, Kiibo hums proudly because he has been an integral part of this whole process. What Shuuichi plans to do with the photo, he's not entirely sure, but if there is anyone who is good at putting puzzles together, it's the Ultimate Detective himself.

The Ultimate Robot, on the other hand, can only give so much of his functionality before he becomes useless. So to prevent overextending himself at this time, he takes a moment to leave the crime scene behind entirely. Shuuichi, Maki, and some others are already gone, and he assures Gonta (who asks so sweetly if he'll be back) that he'll return, soon enough. He exits the crowded seance room, and welcomes the cold, stagnant air that greets him in the hallway.

Kiibo thinks nothing of the third floor except for all the horrors that it has housed for his friends. Not one, but _two_ members of the council have died here. Not one, but _two_ of his dearly beloved friends have been ripped from his grasp. A pit of anxiety swells in his chest, blooming at a dangerous rate that threatens to burst from the pressure of it all. Yet he keeps his calmness in place, and maintains his cool. Of all the students, he has grounds to be the most calculated and level-headed in any given situation, but that doesn't stop him from exuding warmth and emotion like he _really is_ another human.

Just as he reminds himself of this fact, he sees something that sends him into a nearly metallic _shock_. The very sight of it twists and turns his mind in different directions, like broken scraps in a factory compressor. His eyes are bright, neon, and wide within seconds. He feels his system screaming out warning and prevention signs of every manner, only for the voice in his head to call out protests against doing anything at all.

 _Because,_ the voice says, _that's Kokichi over there. Kokichi is there, bleeding and crying for some reason. But that's okay! Just leave him there! He's so mean and nasty, and no matter what happened, it's clear that he definitely deserves this!_

Normally, Kiibo would feel inclined to agree and listen. The voice in his head always helps him, and always gives him guidance in times where he feels lost. It comforts him whenever he feels dour, and it encourages him whenever he lacks strength. But for the voice to condemn Kokichi—as it always does—just seems _too cruel_ right now, especially given the situation.

Kokichi looks even _more_ pathetic than he already does once he realizes that Kiibo is watching him. But as he scrambles up from his place on the wooden floors—only to stumble and groan as he feebly clings to the wall for support—Kiibo thinks that in this short moment in time, the one before him actually _isn't_ the Ultimate Supreme Leader. The person before him isn't this awfully clever, cleverley awful boy that manages to get on everyone's nerves in new, personal ways. He isn't this guy that's made himself out to be the wittiest and craftiest person there, things that can mitigate the sheer difference in physical strength and size he has in comparison with the other students. He isn't this scheming, conniving, unconforming figure that thinks and moves in unpredictable patterns.

Right now, he is nothing but an injured, scared, and confused little boy. He is nothing more than a vulnerable husk of his former self, one that seems aware of this weakness but is unable to do anything to change it as he hobbles and quivers like a flag in the wind. Kokichi is nothing as he has made himself out to be, and while Kiibo cannot discern more than that, he decides that for _once,_ the voice in his head has to be ignored.

Against all protests echoing in his mind, Kiibo approaches the other.

"Get away, you stinky robot," Kokichi mutters in a voice that is only half of his usual cheer. "I don't wanna choke on your exhaust fumes, or somethin'..."

"Ouma-kun," Kiibo says to him carefully, hoping to discard any further taunts on the other's end. "Please, don't mess around right now. I'm no medical expert—in fact, my medical knowledge is as good as a someone shadowing a nurse, at best—but even then, I can tell that you're seriously injured."

"You can tell that? Are you sure that your X-ray eyes aren't malfunctioning again?" For a few seconds, he almost sounds and seems as lucid as he usually is. But then Kokichi's eyes blink slowly, and turn up again with a cloudy, unfocused sheen. His gaze shoots at the ground _next_ to Kiibo, rather than on Kiibo himself, which really tells the robot everything he needs to know.

Kokichi is still Kokichi, and even in life-threatening situations, he holds onto his jokes and pride with utter desperation. He cries out in a strangely sedate voice. "A-Ah, just go away already...you're makin' my head bleed more…"

"You know that's not true," Kiibo insists. He takes a step forward, while Kokichi tries to take one back. As one of Kiibo's sturdy arm reaches out, one of Kokichi's skinny limbs grasps at his own side in a desperate attempt to still the uncouth stuttering and shaking that his body has taken to. Then Kokichi goes as far as to shield his body away at an angle, as if he is a frightened animal caught in the unmistakable lurch of an encroaching predator.

Kiibo is far from predatory, however, and he hopes this shows in the sincerity of the smile on his face. He hopes that the brightness in his countenance belies the screaming in his _head_ ( _Stop it, stop it, stop it—we don't want to see this, Kiibo! Stop it already, just listen to us, this is mutiny, where's the democracy in all this? Kiibo, listen)_ He brings his hand closer, closer, and closer still—then sighs out in relief as Kokichi finally relents underneath his touch, letting Kiibo's cold fingers brush the wayward strands of flippant hair away in gentle movements.

As violet streaks of hair are displaced, Kiibo senses something equally bruise-like and venomous in color stir in his insides. He feels something the equivalent of a cold sweat form on his face, and the flash of worry that momentarily crosses Kokichi's visage in response is proof that the robot is making such a sour expression without knowing it.

But can he be blamed? There is a deep, swelling cut underneath the mess of purple hair, which pulsates forth blood and misery in tandem. Crimson colored in its entirety, each drop of blood seems like it's screaming out of pain and discomfort—squelching and squirming as it leaks through the damage surface of the skin. Each drop of red reflects a dark gleam of wonder, round and luminous until it peters out and becomes flat, monotonous liquid in a matter of seconds.

Each drop stains Kiibo's fingers in its carnal shades, but he doesn't mind it as much as he should. Instead of panicking or giving into the situation, he rationalizes a plan in his head, and nods to himself when he agrees with its inner workings.

"Come on, Ouma-kun," Kiibo says. He uses his clean hand to grab one of Kokichi's stuttering limbs, and coaxes it into relaxation as he runs his cool fingers over the bony surface of his knuckles in a shared embrace. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"...Why…?" Kokichi drones on, voice becoming tired and sodden. "Why are you even bothering yourself…?"

"Bother? I don't understand. It's not a bother to help someone, Ouma-kun."

"Not unless that someone's me," he murmurs against the chilly air, shivering as he lets himself be guided by the other's steady hands. The blood trickles downward, still, and Kiibo desperately hopes he can find some gauze in the warehouse. Either that, or anything else capable of staying the life that drains out of him by the second. Kokichi continues to say: "I'm definitely _bothersome_ …"

"I would never imagine that you thought that of yourself," Kiibo admits. He does surmise that some of this personal oddity comes from the _concussion_ that Kokichi is sure to have, but he doesn't voice this idea out into the open. He won't hold anything against Kokichi right now, given his injured status. He adds on: "Well, putting your usually _colorful_ personality aside, I firmly believe that no one deserves to suffer like this. It's bad enough that Angie-san and Chabashira-san have died today. Your injury isn't looking too good, either."

"Kiiboy, you big dummy," Kokichi laments. "You can't be so _nice_ to people like this! This is _exactly_ how Angie got you and everyone else to join her stupid, _stupid_ book club." A pause, a blink, a wonder—then his voice grates awkwardly as he tries to catch up with the fleeting current of his damaged thoughts. "Shit, it was a council, right? Point is, you should have just let me like, I dunno, _die_ just now."

"No, I _shouldn't_ have," Kiibo counters. "You need help. Someone could _actually_ kill you in this state." The thought sours his throat and makes his tongue go dry, and Kiibo swallows the hesitation forming deep inside him. "I-I don't want that to happen, Ouma-kun."

"...Ugh, I can't deal with you right now. I'm just gonna lean on you. Not 'cause I'm hurt or anything, but 'cause your stinky robot fumes are making me lightheaded." He scrunches his nose, blinks some of the stray blood out of his eyes, and leans on Kiibo's shoulder like he promised he would. His head is heavy against him, but mostly damp because of the leaking blood coming through. Each little movement or shift only works to displace more of that blood, and Kiibo bites back on another worried comment that wants to escape from his lips.

Instead, he decides to humor him, for once in his life. "Well maybe," Kiibo says, "there will be perfume in the warehouse that I can use to cover up the bad smell."

Kokichi doesn't outright laugh at his attempt to lighten the mood. Yet at the very least, he seems _slightly_ amused at the thought of it, as his breath sputters out to be something _close_ to a chuckle, and the curves of his lips move into something that Kiibo can only _imagine_ as a smile, since he can't quite see the entirety of Kokichi's face from his current angle.

But he quickly decides to himself that it's _okay_ , because he really doesn't have to see _anything_ to feel as pleased as he does now.

.

.

"How did this happen?" Kiibo quietly asks as he gently wipes more of the blood away with a damp cloth. Time has passed and while the other students busy themselves with the latter end of the investigation, Kiibo and Kokichi sit on one of the benches inside the warehouse as the former fixes up the latter's injury. "Is it possible that someone attacked you in between the body discovery announcements?"

"Maybe," Kokichi answers. His eyes are still bleary and distant, not to mention that his body trembles and moves in strange ways. But his voice sounds closer to its normal strength and lucidity, so that, at least, is a good sign. "I wouldn't be surprised if this was all a set up to get a _triple-kill_ in a single day, actually. Like bowling, right? What's the word for a triple strike? One of those poultry birds or something? Was it turkey, duck, or chicken? Mmm, chicken doesn't sound so bad right now, actually..."

"Please be serious," Kiibo reminds him, as he switches out the wash cloth with a dry one, patting down the treated skin only seconds later. Then he pulls out some even dryer gauze, and hesitates momentarily before covering up the gash on Kokichi's forehead—all while imagining what he should do about the blood and injury that remains on the _back_ of his head, too. "What happened to you, Ouma-kun? Can you remember?"

"Hmm," he hums contently, closing his eyes against tired eyelids and smiling softly into the darkness he sees (or doesn't see) there. "I wonder~ Well, since you're so _boring_ I'll skip the lies and go straight for the truth. I fell in."

"Fell in? Fell in _what?"_

"I was investigating the room next to the one that the seance was held in. Just as I was walking, _bam."_ He claps his hands together a few beats too early, but Kiibo still flinches at the suddenness of the noise. "I fall in. All the floorboards are loose, or somethin'. Sucks."

"That sounds awful," Kiibo concedes. "It's quite a bit of a fall you must have had. It explains all the blood, at least. Unfortunately, it could also mean that this injury goes farther than it seems."

Kokichi scoffs before asking. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's just a possibility, but you seem like you're concussed. The way you're acting and talking could be a result of it, too. It makes sense, especially since you admitted that you hit your head really hard just earlier…"

"Concussion…? What? That's not…"

"I'm afraid that's the case, if your confused state is any sign of it. I can also double check my databases but I'm pretty sure I have a pamphlet downloaded on basic injuries, concussions included." A thoughtful pause ensues, and Kiibo amends his words with a quiet tone of reassurance. "But it's okay, Ouma-kun. I...I won't tell anyone else what happened to you."

"Doesn't matter," he says. "Saihara-chan and Harukawa-chan saw me like this already. But they just brushed me off."

" _What?"_ Kiibo asks, clearly appalled by his classmates' lack of concern for such a pressing matter. "H-How can that be? Harukawa-san is abrasive, yes, but _Saihara-kun?_ Why would they just ignore you if you're bleeding and hurting like this?"

"I dunno," Kokichi answers. He sounds slightly offended, for one. A little bit too truthful, for another. "Your _guest_ is as good as mine. Whoops, I slipped up in English, there. Um, I mean ' _guess'._ Unless you're actually conspiring with someone and I'm like, being watched right now. Not by Monokuma but by another student. So then 'guest' is...actually... _correct._ Or something."

"I promise that's not the case. It's just you and I, Ouma-kun. Well, it's actually you, me, and Monokuma's cameras that are probably hidden somewhere. B-But don't worry about all that right now!" Kiibo quickly insists, embarrassed by something that Kokichi cannot hope to know. "I'll do my best to keep helping you, then. Would you turn around for me, please?" Kiibo asks as he pulls his hands away, finished with the gauze for now. But that was just the _front_ of Kokichi's head. He's still not entirely sure about the back.

In lieu of the ongoing silence that follows his question, Kiibo gently murmurs: "Ouma-kun?"

If Kokichi is aware of what Kiibo is saying, he doesn't show it, because his eyes get lost in some murky haze again, and he's staring peaceful death into the flatness of the floor and the softness of the gauze. His limbs remain still and obediently placed at his side, with no intention of kicking or thrashing or any of those wild body gestures he's sometimes known for doing. No, he's completely unmoving for now, except to breathe in a wayward manner every few seconds.

The tranquility is lost on the Ultimate Robot in its entirety. Kiibo panics as loudly as he shouts. "Ouma-kun!" He repeats the name feverishly. "Ouma-kun!"

Kokichi moves without emotion and without thought. In this instant in time, he has unknowingly switched his role with Kiibo's, becoming nothing short of the Ultimate Robot himself. He looks just as blank as he stares upward, gaze flitting over the monochrome of Kiibo's body. "Yeah?"

"Ouma-kun, did you hear anything I said just now?"

"No, not at all. What were we talking about?"

"Oh, forget it." Kiibo sighs, and gets up to go around Kokichi and inspect the back of his head himself. There's less blood than there was in the front, that's for sure. But beyond that there seems to be another laceration, and Kiibo gets to work in disinfecting and cleaning it up, too. "I'm sorry for confusing you. You worried me, but it's fine now. I hope this doesn't hurt too badly."

"Hurts a lot," Kokichi says with half-hearted amusement in his voice. "But whatever. I don't care. Promise that I don't. 'M gonna sleep soon, though. Tired." His words start melding together, and all the previous semblances of lucidity fade away into the air without so much as a protest on his end. His eyes flutter unsteadily, lashes casting exhausted shadows over the dim curves of his face before they close together completely. "Very tired, Kiiboy."

"I can imagine. But unfortunately, the trial will start soon, so that means you won't be able to skip out on it, even if you have a good reason for doing so." Kiibo thinks for a minute, and brightens up at a possible compromise. "Ah, but maybe if you fall asleep during a slow segment in the trial, no one will think too badly of you. They're all exhausted, too."

"Hah...sleeping during a trial? That's a new one. Even for me." His eyes open momentarily, and he looks in Kiibo's general direction with a languid glance. "...Now I owe you one, though. Is that your endgame, Kiibo? You want me to owe you for this so you can get my guard down? So you can _kiiiiiill_ me later on?"

"Not at all," Kiibo calmly refuses the idea, although his chest hammers with electric pulsations of fear and anxiety. "I don't have an _endgame,_ so to speak. If at the end of all this, we can just live safely in the memory of our friends, then that's enough for me." Images of the fallen students flash by in his mind, although his fond smile goes sadly nostalgic and soft at the thought of Angie and Tenko, in particular.

He swallows the hesitation in his throat like a bitter pill, before looking at Kokichi and deciding that his injuries are well taken care of. At least, it shouldn't get _worse_ with the treatment he's received. Satisfied with his work, Kiibo helps him stand, and guides him to the courtyard where the others have to gather at the inevitable end of the investigation. And just like before, Kokichi leans on Kiibo for support as they walk through the paved roads together.

Unlike before, though, Kiibo doesn't have to convince or ask Ouma to do anything. This time, Ouma moves on his own volition, without the need of sleek fingers running over his bony knuckles, and without a cool and resourceful voice cajoling him into safety. This time, Ouma chooses to be in Kiibo's company.

The voices in his head have gone silent with displeasure, but Kiibo figures that for once, they can just deal with it.

He wouldn't trade this hour away for anything else in the world right now.

* * *

 **Rantarou Amami**

* * *

"My beloved Amami-chan looks so hot when he's lost in thought," Kokichi murmurs dreamily into the air, sighing out as whimsically as he can. "What is he thinking about, though? Is he dreaming about the sea? The sky? _Moi?_ Maybe so!"

" _Ouma-kun_ ," Rantarou says as he turns on his heels to face Kokichi, looking less annoyed than he sounds. "Don't you have better things to do than follow me, maybe? They announced that there's a time limit now, y'know? Doesn't that worry you even a _little bit?"_

"Of course it does! I'm scared to death!" Kokichi smiles and says this with utmost cheer, relishing in the surprised look in Rantarou's eyes. He goes on to say: "But, like, wouldn't it _suck_ if we all died stressed out like this? So in our final days, we should just calm down and _relax._ Or something like that."

"Ouma-kun…"

"I'm lying, of course." One of many utterances of not-truths he's sure to have, but nevertheless, he clears his throat and starts up again in a newly bothered tone. "Obviously, this is the worst thing to happen in my short-but-infinitely-long life so far. But what can we do? Unless one of us _murders_ the other, then there's no way that we can make it past the deadline that Monokuma-chan set up for us." His face darkens considerably, although Rantarou is too busy staring into space to notice the pure _death_ that crosses Kokichi's visage.

It's for the better, really.

He replies with an equally dazed tone in his voice, glancing back at the other after a moment or two of necessary silence. "I know, Ouma-kun, believe me, I know. And it all seems _impossible_ now, but I have a feeling that I can do something about this. Something that'll change everything, for better or worse..."

"You're planning to _kill_ someone? What a bold move that is, 'cause I really I didn't think you had it in you!" An over exaggerated gasp resounds, and Kokichi grabs at Rantarou's wrists so as to affirm his touch and garner his attention—matching Rantarou's exasperated expression with his own electric jubilee. Sparks practically fly out from him as he cries out: "Am I the guest of honor on this fine day? Are you gonna kill me, Amami-chan? Slowly and intimately, I hope? Oh, how _exciting!"_

"Please don't joke around like that," Rantarou denies. While he smiles kindly at Kokichi in return, there is something off-putting in the curves of his lips and the greens of his eyes. Without warning, the air around Rantarou has become menacing, and Kokichi relents his hold on the other's wrists without further protest.

Rantarou wrings his hands several times before continuing, only slightly relieved that Kokichi _finally_ seems to be listening to him. "Ouma-kun, I could never think of killing _anyone_. Not even strangers. While that's hard to believe, especially given our current situation, I have a plan in mind. One where maybe, just _maybe_ , I can end this game before it even starts. Or before it _has_ to start, anyway."

Curiosity spikes in exponential levels, and Kokichi decides to contain the worst of it by siphoning off the energy into a tame, lucid expression on his face. He blinks up at Rantarou again, and holds the other's spring-green gaze with his own violet stare. They would be such a sick combination, really, if Rantarou didn't look at him with such watered-down emotion.

Amami remains silent, although he is admittingly enthralled by Kokichi and his attempt to hold down the situation. Ouma sighs. "Care to elaborate? Or is this where you go off on your own, pretending like you're some super cool hero that can save us all?" _Although that archetype is quickly being filled by the idiot Momota-chan,_ he thinks to himself afterward.

"I'm not sure about that _hero_ part, but I hate to say that this is where I go off on my own." Rantarou chuckles, sounding much too placid for someone that claims to be worried about the killing game. He looks much too assured for someone that should be just as confused and scared as the rest of them. Yet, Kokichi senses something _more_ about Rantarou—something bright and wondrous, lurking beneath his darkened gaze and flexible surface, much like a treasure hidden behind a tempting veil.

If only Kokichi could know the secrets, too, or even think of a way to weedle them out of Rantarou so he could know them. But in the short time he has known him, he can already tell that in some regards, he is no match for the boy in front of him. While he gave off such a flirtatious and laidback air the first time anyone met him, all it takes is a second encounter with him to know that such a first impression is _wrong._ Everyone else runs around the campus like headless chickens, turning themselves into nervous coils of fear, drilling thoughts of hopes and wishes into their head but leaving holes for their common sense and logic to fall out of—none of them seem like they have a solid plan in mind. Not even the Ultimate Detective or the Ultimate Inventor, who should be the most prevalent in a time like this.

Instead, the one silently taking charge of the situation is someone that Kokichi would never even _consider_ at first. Rantarou Amami, he whose talent remains unknown, has a _determination_ within him that he can end this game single handedly. Or, at the very least, that he can go on ahead without Kokichi's assistance. Not that Kokichi would ever want to play second fiddle to someone else—play _Watson_ to someone's _Sherlock_ —but there _is_ strength in numbers.

So why does he feel like Amami's number is stacking up against his? Why does he feel like he's lost control of the situation, all of a sudden? He blinks the hesitation away, and speaks clearly despite the hazy uncertainty that floods into his chest like water. "Are you sure about that, Amami-chan? What if I went with you for totally different reasons, then? I've officially made you one of my _beloveds,_ after all. I'll accompany you and whisper French in your ear, all while you go and make a show of yourself by saving the day with your unexpected grace and wit."

Rantarou laughs, and it's the only genuine sound from him that Kokichi has heard thus far. At least, he _thinks_ it is. What else could describe the airiness of the noise, surpassed only by the pure _gentle_ tones that hide within? "How _kind_ of you to think of me, Ouma-kun. But really, I'm fine by myself. Maybe after I'm done, and maybe once this game is over, I'll take you up on that offer. French whispers, and all." His tone is completely light and facetious, now, but utterly genuine, still. Kokichi stays quiet and Rantarou continues in lieu of his silence. "For now, though, I'm gonna go check something out. See you around."

He heads in another direction, although the exact place is uncertain. Kokichi watches Rantarou's tall and lanky figure disappear in a mesh of shadows cast by the afternoon sunlight. He watches and counts the seconds that go by in tandem, numbers spiraling in his head without reason. He watches as the green melds into the off whites and light blues of the main building, until the only green left in sight is the one that lies in the fake grass on the pavement side.

He watches Rantarou, and once his figure disappears, Kokichi has the vague feeling that he's never really seen him, to begin with.

.

.

The music is madness in his ears, and his face is buried into pillows with the futile hopes that the plush surface can block out the blaring cacophony from nearby. Kokichi groans at the thought of it all—death, failure, massacre—but most importantly, he despairs at the the dizzying noise that will surely be the last thing he hears before he _dies._ He has to _die,_ after all. This countdown playing on all the television screens is a warning from Monokuma. It's a flashing, colorful, _ugly_ montage of the soon-to-be eradication of the sixteen students trapped there. What other fate awaits them, when all the students are too decent to kill each other, but too scared to fight against the system in place? What else could happen, in the little time that they have left?

Kokichi doesn't know, and he's too scared to admit it. He's too scared to confront anyone right now, because the thought that someone could kill him at the last second ( _Please, no, that's actually the worst thing ever)_ or that he'll get gunned down by one of those Exisals isn't the most pleasant thing in the world. But he would rather avoid the presence of others, anyway, since his walls are coming down after careful construction and he's beside himself with wracked sobs and stuttering breaths. No one needs to see his snot-nose right now, especially _not_ the people he has been doomed to die with in conjoined misery.

He counts the seconds and minutes in his head, often losing count because the music doesn't stop even when he wants it to. Unfortunately, there is no respite to be found _anywhere_ in this cursed academy, for television screens are planted in every room, hallway, and corner of the campus. There is no silence in this overwhelming racket—there is no _peace_ in this undulating _chaos_.

Kokichi hates it.

When he's down to the final minutes—when the screens flicker out epileptic images of death and finality—he gives out one last pathetic wish to the universe. He recites one last useless prayer, despite his non-religious ways, to whatever deity or force can hear him.

 _I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die!_

 _Don't let me die._

When it all comes true, and when the noise suddenly stops, he thinks that he's already dead and this is respite in heavenly form. Then he gets up from his place on the bed, straightens out his clothes, and wipes at the tear-stained mess on his face. He makes a list in his head to assess the situation. Still alive? Check. Buttons still mismatching? Check. Hair still closer to a nest than anything else? Check. Scarf still on? Check (white) and check (black).

He's still alive. So what gives?

"A body has been discovered~ About time, too!" Monokuma announces after a moment of silence has passed. Or maybe he doesn't, because Kokichi barely registers the sound of the bear's inflated voice over the thunderous blood rushing in his own ears. "Everyone, please gather in the library. Thank you."

His heart drops, his mind reels. _They did it, those mad bastards. They absolutely did it._ One of them snapped. One of them broke. He is relieved that he lives to tell the tale, but is grieved in the same motion, as there is a _tale to tell._ There is a body lying in the library, somewhere, and fourteen other students are now gathering to go there. _Kokichi_ is getting up to go there, leaving his dorm with shaky hands and unsteady feet, and wiping the remnants of snot and tears away into tissues that he discards on his way out.

He sees Ryoma Hoshi for sure, also running out of his dorm—and someone else that he's too frazzled to remember right now. After a wordless exchange between them all, they run out of the building, and dash towards the library in shared silence. The weight of the words " _a body has been discovered_ " hangs heavily on them, and Kokichi is sure that the same questions resound through everyone's head at this time.

 _Who? Why? When? How come? What happens to us now?_ None of which can be immediately answered, since the library feels like a lifetime away. Finally, Kokichi and the others file into the spacious room, where all surviving students stand to see the horror of their reality with their own eyes.

Kokichi's breath halts. The tears from before well up in his eyes again, and it's not long before he puts up a (half) facade of being extremely angry and devastated at the murderous sight before him. But as the salty tears fall over in fat streams, and as the other students cry and scream along with him, he can only think about one thing.

 _Oh, Amami-chan,_ he laments to himself. _It looks like_ _I should have gone with you, after all._

* * *

 **Kaede Akamatsu**

* * *

When Kaede remains positive (as positive as someone can _be_ in a situation like theirs, anyway) in the face of _actual_ death, Kokichi figures that he ought to give her some credit. Although he's shot down her hearty, friendship-filled speeches before, she acts unaffected by his previous actions. No, she's rather proactive during the investigation, working with that weakling of a detective— _Shuuichi Saihara,_ he thinks his name is—the entire time. And while they're just as despondent and confused as everyone else, they have a sort of drive that puts them at the forefront of the investigation. Even as they shake with fear (Shuuichi more so than Kaede) and gaze upon every bit of evidence with _doubt,_ they're already so much better than the rest of the students, who are almost useless in the process of the initial investigation like this.

At the very least, Kokichi can recount his alibi to them, although the fact that he was in his dorm prior to the murder doesn't really help his innocence, especially since no one can account for his actions since he actively avoided everyone since the beginning. Although the thought of being accused as the guilty party doesn't scare him. No, in this situation, it's best to stay level-headed, and refute all accusations with the same cheery gait that he's been holding himself with up to now.

That's the plan that Kokichi decides on, and he sticks to it. The rest of the procedure appears unremarkably easy, since all he has to do is go around and make sure that no one's goofing off, destroying evidence, or doing anything that would otherwise impede the investigation.

At some point, however, Kokichi finds himself absorbed in _people watching,_ and focuses on the events unfolding around him, rather than the corpse in the library. The investigation period probably won't last long at all, but at the rate that Kaede and Shuuichi are going at, it's only a matter of time before everything falls into place.

When the Ultimate Pianist herself stops to take a break—without the _Ultimate Detective_ in tow for once, who the others had figured to be her "shadow"—the Ultimate Supreme Leader capitalizes on the idea. The hallway is lit with the afterglow of the evening sun, and Kaede looks like gold and pale fire because of it. Kokichi admits this sight to be rather opportune and beautiful, but he has more important things to do than to gawk at Kaede's objective attractiveness.

"Akamatsu-chan," he greets her. "Surprised to see you taking a break~ I thought you and Saihara-chan were gonna catch on fire at this rate!"

"Ouma-kun," she replies in a weary voice. "Funny seeing you here. But of course, I'm only human, so even _I_ need a break!"

"So only humans need breaks, huh? You better be careful with your robot discrimination around these parts, Akamatsu-chan! Kiiboy can hear them from a mile away, since he has radars for ears." The joke enlivens the situation knowingly, and he feels a bit brighter as the sunlight envelops him, too. "I'm serious, though. I didn't think you'd try to take the lead with the investigation, of all things. I guess trying to wear everyone out with childish ideas of escape from the sewers earlier wasn't enough for you, huh?"

Her eyes narrow with rising, simmering indignation, and suddenly the earlier image of pale fire doesn't seem so far off the mark, now. "What are you _saying_ , Ouma-kun? I don't have any ulterior motives for wanting to help out. This investigation is important, after all, and we need to take it seriously. For Amami-kun's sake, if no one else's."

"All I'm saying is that your goodwill won't get you anywhere," he points this out, like it should be exceedingly obvious and Kaede is a fool for even asking. Maybe she is. "You keep taking the lead out, and while that's fine, don't you realize that just makes you more suspicious? Not to mention that you and Saihara-chan are so close that you're definitely up to _something._ Whatever that something is, well, only you two really know about it, right?"

"Saihara-kun and I aren't doing anything like _that_ ," Kaede insists. "We just get along well. And I appreciate your concern, Ouma-kun, but I said this before and I'll have to say it again: I'll never understand why you try to purposely hurt people like this! And your lies are just... _too_ much. I don't understand them, so please don't annoy me like this." She heaves a great sigh, although the irritated exasperation stays at that and doesn't go on to full blown anger.

Kokichi wishes it would, because it would give him a better reason to hate her. There's nothing wrong with genuine kindness and compassion, really, there isn't! But in a killing game that has inevitably started beneath their heels? And during an investigation where Rantarou's murderer runs freely among the innocent?

 _She's dead meat._ He laughs at this immediate thought as he throws his hands behind his back in lazy glee. "Alright, relax, relax. I was just testing your mettle. But, like, it wouldn't be so bad if after all this killing is over, you'd join my organization! We really need people like you! People with spunk and gusto, y'know?"

"That's…"

"A complete lie!" he cheers. "My organization has thousands of members, so there's no real reason for someone like you to join it. But I wasn't lying about testing you. I mean, think about it from _my_ perspective, Akamatsu-chan. You're this girl that's putting herself out there to lead others and comfort them, while also forgiving them for saying some nasty shit to you. So, like, doesn't that make you _super_ dangerous? And when you take the lead in the investigation like this, no one can really defy you while you're going around putting clues together. Isn't that just _too_ convenient?"

The light pouring down on them turns warmer now, becoming an impossibly orange shade that starts to hurt his eyes. He takes a step back from the blinding atmosphere, if nothing else.

She doesn't hesitate, however, and takes a step forward, in turn. "I understand where you're coming from, Ouma-kun, I really do. But I'm not like that at all. If anything, I just want to get to the bottom of this—I just want the _truth_ to come out." Her voice is sturdy, righteous, and _light_ , which makes him feel like there should be pearly white wings spreading out from her back.

They never form, although he swears he feels a feather-light touch against his skin as she speaks. Maybe it's the air. He hums in accordance, nevertheless. She goes on to say: "I'm not gonna lie, but you're really difficult to talk to. But that doesn't mean I _don't_ want to talk to you. So maybe, once we figure out the cause of all this, we can, like, start over?" She seems hopeful now, and less assured than before as a goofy smile appears on her face. "I dunno, I want to escape with the remaining students here. And I want to do justice to Amami-kun. I don't think it's such a bad thing to want, is it?"

"Not at all," Ouma quickly agrees. "Well, we'll have to survive the trial before we can start making any promises. But if you're true to your word, then _maybe_ I'll tell my subordinates that you can be spared. Then after that you can come visit me in my base in Cancun. Or Thailand, whichever one suits your fancy~" a giggle and a smile is all she sees of his face before he turns on his heels. Then he talks mostly to the air as he waves dismissively at her from behind. "Okay, okay. I'll stop bothering the Second Ultimate Detective now so she can finish her work. See ya 'round!"

"See ya!" she calls out after him. His steps aren't rushed, but his strides are long and they separate the two of them into the opposites ends of the hall before they even know it. Kaede smiles to herself, rushes forward a bit, and yells out at his fleeting figure with one last cadence.

"And Thailand, for sure! I've always wanted to go there~"

.

.

She is an angel, one would say. All angels are uniform in their goodness, wholeness, and _holiness_ like no other. But that iridescently white uniform they wear is so constrictive, binding, and misleading all at once. Like an angel, she is lead by her nature to be _pure_ and _sacrificial,_ not even caring that her individuality is stepped on in the process.

She is an angel, swaying back on forth on broken wings and tightened ropes that twist her neck into ugly purple rings. The rest of them are the humans she swore to protect and guard, but she has failed them in more ways than one. She is their shepherd, leading them astray without realizing the path she walks on is just as narrow and uneven as they once believed it to be.

She is dead, and Kokichi hates her for it. He hates her for this moment in time, because she is everything he admires. She is strong, kind, and unwavering. But more importantly, she is an expert _liar_ that escaped even the best self-proclaimed liar around. Although everyone was suspicious of her at some point—whether during the trial or before it—the only person that could see through her fabrications was the "shadow" following her around all this time.

Kokichi will remember _his_ name later, but for now he dwells on the one named Kaede Akamatsu. For less than a minute, she hangs asphyxiated before them, like a rag doll dangling from a thread in the too-rough hands of a child. And once that minute passes, she is enveloped by the hungry fangs of a spiked piano—drowned underneath the pressure and blood of this sadistic game and her own misgivings.

She is an angel, but heaven has swallowed her up without remorse. Kokichi bites on his tongue, and quickly decides that kindness is useless in a game like theirs. He turns his back on her, with the resolve to be _cruel,_ in order to alleviate all the burden that the one of _kindness_ has left behind. If he must be cruel and calculative in order to survive, then so be it. If he must scathe at her name and regret the compassion she once showed everyone, then so be it.

Heaven is a conformity that he wants no part of. Kindness is a cruelty he wants no indulgence from. He is sure that she weeps over him now, but eventually she will learn to forgive him in the time it will take for him to undo the fastenings she has placed on them all. Quickly but surely, he will unravel this cruel game—one that _she_ started and left behind for them to finish—and unravel the workings of this horrible world around him. He will do his best to prevent future killings, but as long as the murderous intent exists among them, he will try his hardest to curb that desire, and to weed out the animosity that lies beneath the surface.

Kokichi walks ahead of the others as they all leave the courtroom, defeated, filing out one-by-one like little toy soldiers wound up on their backs again. It's a fitting metaphor, he believes. They really _are_ soldiers, now.

They're thrust into a battle out of their control, and they're part of a nightmare with no chance of waking up.

They're angels fallen out of heaven, with their guardian nowhere in sight.

They're _fucked_ beyond belief, passing the line of severity and extremity long ago. They're doomed, and he doesn't know it yet, because he is, unfortunately, a part of _them._ A part of _her._

It's just as well.


	5. Kaito, Maki, Shuuichi

_Note: Hey there everyone! After almost a year and a half since this fic first came out, I finally posted the last chapter to this Kokichi Interaction installment. Let me just say that I had Kaito and Maki's sections completed for a while, but I rewrote them over and over again, and I had no idea what to do for Shuuichi, of all people. I know, Shuuichi, the number one person that people write for when it comes to Kokichi interactions. That's the curse of being a popular pair, I guess._

 _That being said, I finally realized that constant re-editing isn't getting me anywhere, so I just wrote freely and decided to post what came as a result of it. Kaito and Maki's chapters are proofread to the best of my abilities, but I will admit that Shuuichi's is a little...unedited in the regard that most of it was written in a passionate flurry of creative inspiration. So take that as you will._

 _Thank you all for being so patient with me. I can finally put this fic behind me, and focus on my dozens of WIPs and ideas that have yet to come to fruition. I'll bring back that little header just to give you a heads up about the timeline, here._

KAITO MOMOTA: this part takes place _**during chapter five.**_ If you already know about V3 then you know what a frenzy that is, ahaha. Needless to say it was probably the most emotional I've been since writing Himiko's chapter.

MAKI HARUKAWA: this part takes place any time _**between the end of chapter two and the end of chapter four.**_ To be quite honest, Maki was the hardest to come up with a scenario for (since she Kokichi hate each other's guts, y'know. No big deal.) so I just. Bent the rules a little bit.

SHUUICHI SAIHARA: this part takes place **_during the chapter four investigation_** , so clearly there are spoilers for who dies, etc. Just a little bit of a "what-if" scenario, not too different from canon itself (as is the case with all of these little sections).

 _Thanks again and enjoy the final part of Ephemeral!_

* * *

 **Kaito Momota**

* * *

"This is the stupidest thing you've ever done."

"Actually, not really, because one time I was eating a cookie, and then I dropped it into the gutter of a street. It was raining so hard that the cookie got soaked. It flowed down the stream of the curb and got stuck on some leaves. And then I—"

"Don't tell me you ate the damn thing!" Momota groaned. "You've gotta be kidding me, Ouma…"

"I was hungry," he defended. "What was I supposed to do, _starve?_ "

"That's what I would've done. Or I would've bought another cookie, at least."

"Hey, you sound smart for once! Did you get replaced by Monokuma or something when I wasn't looking?"

"Fuck you and everything you stand for."

"Good thing I'm sitting, then."

"Fuck you."

Their banter continued as usual, and it didn't feel out of place. In fact, it felt as if everything was meant to be that simple from the very beginning. Momota Kaito and Ouma Kokichi were two opposite ends of a magnet, perfectly so. One was bursting from head to toe with boundless _positive_ energy, going through life with a determination so pure and strong that it was infectious. Wherever he saw negativity, he did his best to rectify it, even if it meant taking in strays or putting his life on the line.

The other was quite the opposite. He was negatively charged, to the point where he stole the life and energy of other people as his own. He devoured everything in his path, and knocked down obstacles in his way. If he saw something wondrous and positive, he had no other instinct than to tamper with it, and show them all the polar reality that existed in front of their eyes—but that they ignored like their lives depended on it.

They never got along. They went so far as to physically hit each other at times, punching and kicking wherever words couldn't fit: because Momota was honest and earnest, smart where it counted, but pretty-fucking-dumb otherwise. And Ouma was deceptive and cunning, wonderfully brilliant, but an absolute-pain-in-the-ass at every other instance. They were very alike but very different—complete opposites, but complementary individuals.

It made sense that they didn't understand each other, and when they finally _did_ see eye-to-eye, it was too late.

The poison surging through their veins deemed it so.

But the banter picked up like nothing, and it was an electric current that pulsed through their bodies and minds, reminding them of the dwindling minutes. It acted as a morbid counter held over their heads, constantly preserving the seconds that winded down until the numbers read zero. Once they reached that point, one of them would give out, and they'd lose to the murder game like almost everyone else before them.

Ouma made sure that theirs would be a case unsolvable, however. He waited for a development like this to happen. In his notebook, well-worn and pressed for space anywhere he could get it—in the margins, in the corners of the pages, on the backside of the front cover—there existed hundreds and hundreds of different scenarios, lines, plans, and schematics. Everything from potential trial outcomes and murders, to criminalistic profiles of every person that participated in the game thus far.

When Momota read through it all, he felt a sick mixture of admiration and disgust all at once. While the exact scenario of _Ouma kidnaps Momota, Harukawa intervenes, Harukawa dooms both Ouma and Momota to die, now Ouma and Momota have to scramble to come up with a good plan before they both die in vain_ isn't inside, a plan that almost matches it (instead of them both dying, Ouma writes inside that Harukawa kills him and Momota protects her during the trial—something that could very well happen if Momota wasn't so righteous in those few seconds in time) is there, so they go by those guidelines if anything else.

"Fuck you, Ouma," Momota repeats himself. It's a soft admonishment, despite the severity of the words spoken. The Ultimate Astronaut blames the haze drifting in his head, floating like ice but burning like fire. Even though he took the antidote earlier, he's sick as he's always been, before _and_ after this game started. He grunts and leans against the wall, holding his arm painfully to his side. "I can't believe you planned for something like this. Who the hell _does_ something like this?"

"I do," Ouma answers calmly. He's also breaking apart at the seams, because each word sounds heavier than the last, and his hands tremble as they switch between covering the different wounds on his body ( _Thanks again for that, Harukawa-chan, you goddamn idiot),_ feebly trying to stay the blood even though that won't do anything for the toxins swirling inside of him.

He focuses on the question asked, for now. "I planned everything from the start, obviously. _Someone's_ gotta do the thinking around here."

"Uh-huh. So what should we do, then? Just talk each other's ears off 'til we die? The hidden cameras will come back online and we'll be dead and Monokuma will just laugh at our corpses or somethin'. Not exactly my ideal situation."

"Since Iruma-chan's inventions worked, we have some time before the system goes back online. We gotta work fast." He pauses, and looks around their surroundings. Of all places to die, he doesn't expect the Exisal hangar to be the one. While he hates every slimy inch of this forsaken academy, he secretly hoped that he would get to die in the courtyard, or on the rooftop where he can watch the artificial stars in his last moments, at the very least.

What bad luck it is to be _here,_ instead.

"You drank the antidote, Momota-chan, so you should be okay soon. But we can't wait for that to take full effect. We have to set things up, y'know."

"...Right," Momota says quietly. The escapade from before doesn't quite register with him yet: Ouma's flashy display of pretending to drink the antidote, Harukawa's tears as she screams for him to stop, Momota's helpless face throughout it all. The most unexpected part of it all is definitely the part where Ouma actually _didn't_ drink the antidote, instead opting to give it to Momota—one of his most hated enemies thus far.

Momota's head hurts simply thinking about it. The poisonous haze starts to clear, though, and that newfound lucidity makes him feel guilty. Because if he's getting better, then it just means that _Ouma_ is getting _worse._

There's no good way out of this, is there?

"Flip to page one-forty. There are instructions there. We'll use the hydraulic press," Ouma struggles to say. He nearly chokes on the pain he feels, which is to be expected, all things considered. The type of poison that Harukawa chose earlier was meant to be a slow, painful one, because she wanted to interrogate him before he died, or something.

What would her reaction be, if she could see him now? How would she feel in knowing that _Momota_ is the one interrogating Ouma, instead? Would she be happy? Would she say he deserved it?

Would she be kind enough to put him out of his misery, already?

"Momota-chan," Ouma says. "Please get your damn head in the game. I'm _literally_ dying so I can't do this by myself, like, _at all_."

"Shit, sorry," he mutters. "Page one-forty, page one-forty...here it is!" The page is less worn out than the others ( _guess he didn't expect things to happen this way)_ but still just as thought-out and complex. Everything in it details a perfect stage for them to act on, but Momota's mind is scattered, so he can only understand their script in fragments. Set up a confusing video. Use the hydraulic press. Get in the Exisal robot. Distract and detract from the trial. Make it impossible for Monokuma to do anything about it. Break the game as we know it.

The words are well-written, but the shape of the letters and the weight of their meaning make him dumbstruck. This is their reality, but he's having a hard time believing it. Is this how the other murders went before them? Is this the same level of planning that Akamatsu, Toujou, Shinguuji, Iruma, and Gonta used when they decided that they wanted to kill someone? Is this the same feeling of harrowing disgust, excitement, and anxiety coming together all at once?

Is this the same?

 _Probably not,_ Momota answers himself internally, because he's orchestrating something more complicated than just a hit-and-run. He's thinking far past the simple idea of getting away with murder, or advancing the group survival another day. He's working _with_ the soon-to-be victim, hoping to cause the longest lasting effect in this game thus far, and in doing so, he would be deflecting the blame of Ouma's soon-to-be death from his beloved Harumaki (his chest tightens at her nickname reverberating in his mind) and unto himself. He is doing everything that no one else has ever dared to do before.

And yet, there lies some measure of uncertainty within him.

Even when he looks back at Ouma, who rots away by the second, his resolve isn't firm enough yet. He feels lost. His heart is unsure. He wonders if things could have been different, if Ouma was as honest as he is right now. If things had turned out differently, if maybe Momota tried to talk to him a little more, or if Ouma didn't easily defy his attempts at peace before, then they wouldn't be stuck in a cold, steely hangar, with nothing but their laborious breaths to fill the air around them. They might even be outside, hanging out together, annoying the shit out of each other but not inciting genuine anger or pain.

That thought itself hurts more than the arrow wound in his arm. Momota is sure of it.

"Let's start with the camera setup," Ouma orders. "We need an ambiguous angle to work from. But where?" His eyes flicker in his direction, and they look dimmer than usual. Momota averts his eyes from staring endlessly at the wall just a _second too late_ for the other's liking. " _Heeeey,_ I said to get your head in the game, dummy. I know you're an astronaut-in-training or whatever, but can you _please_ stop spacing out?"

"Seriously, I don't know how you're doing this right now," Momota admits in disbelief. "Do you understand what we're doing, Ouma? We're planning your _death._ "

"I understand that _perfectly,_ " he insists. " _You're_ the one that doesn't understand. Of course, you were an idiot from the beginning, so something like this is probably confusing the hell out of you, huh?"

"Listen, I don't think I'll ever understand you. But I don't want our last conversation to be _this,_ " Momota waves vaguely at the entirety of the hangar, everything from the hydraulic press to the shutters to the dormant Exisals. "And it would help if you could just admit that you're _scared,_ too _._ We're _literally_ setting up a death trap for you, Ouma. That shit's scary."

Ouma is quiet, and rightfully so. Of course, Momota figures that he's smart enough to know the consequences of his actions beforehand (or that he's brave enough to go through whatever impossibly wild schemes are running through his head like rabid animals), and that the finality of death isn't a new idea for him. But Ouma is poisoned in every sense of the word, and his body and mind take the full force of it all.

He leans against some metal, and closes his eyes, completely unmoving except for soft and nearly unnoticeable breaths. Momota panics for a moment, wondering if Ouma actually _died_ just now, but breathes a sigh of relief as the other opens his eyes again—the look of which is colored in a bright new shade of _introspection_ and _understanding._

Momota feels foolish for worrying in the first place.

"I know it's scary. I'm not lying when I say that I'm scared out of my mind right now. But there's nothing we can do about me dying. That was decided since I-I—" he stops short of finishing his sentences, because his body heaves as he coughs violently into his hands. Momota rushes over to him, but hesitates in making any show of comfort due to the unspoken animosity and confusion between them that's lasted so long up until now. When Ouma finally stops coughing, his hands retract from his mouth, slender fingers coated in an ugly mix of saliva and blood.

Momota's anxiety is palpable as he unwittingly swallows the hesitation in his throat, body trembling at the gruesome (but familiar) sight before him. "Fuck, fuck. Okay, Ouma, we—"

"Shut up," he snaps. "Shut up, shut up! We're wasting time talking about this. I'm gonna die, there's no changing that. But what we _can_ change is the course of this game, Momota-chan. We can do it, I know we can. Just _listen_ to me for once." Ouma breaks out into another coughing fit, and this time Momota rubs circles into his back.

He feels for himself how small and fragile the other boy is.

His chest thumps hollowly.

"Fine, fine. You're right, we gotta move. We only got an hour, tops, right? So tell me what to do, Ouma. I'm ready to listen." He sounds so cavalier when he says that, but it takes a lot of willpower on his end. Every fiber of his being is screeching and unrelenting, not ready to give into his enemy's desires.

But part of his heart and soul start to realize that, maybe, Ouma isn't the real enemy at _all._ Compared to Monokuma and the other sick bastards that are apparently watching their struggles like some sort of game (an idea that Ouma brought up earlier and Momota still fails to understand entirely), Ouma is an _angel_ because he never wanted or orchestrated this mass carnage like everyone thinks he has.

Sure, what he did with Gonta and Iruma was _super_ fucked up (Momota will never change his mind about this, not even a little bit), but there's no escaping death in a killing game like theirs. Ouma even saved Momota and Harukawa in his own odd, lethal way, and now the only possible reward for his efforts would come in the form of his imminent death.

This truth is much harder to swallow than the antidote was, Momota distantly thinks.

.

.

"So I'll press this button, pause the video, and stop the press right before you get crushed," Ouma declares. His hands hover over the mechanisms at the control panel, and his bare chest shivers at the exposure around him. Despite the desperation in his eyes, there is something about him that signals his displeasure with the situation. There is something that seems to be crying out for help from the unbearable pain his body breaks and bends underneath—there is something _weak_ and _vulnerable_ that is rising up through the cracks in his facade, now.

Yet, both of them know that there's no use in fretting over it. It would all be over soon enough.

"Then I'll give you my jacket, and we'll switch places. The video will resume and you'll get—"

"Actually crushed."

"Yeah," Momota croaks out, surprised at how crestfallen and defeated his own voice sounds. He brings up a hand to steady the quivering sensation in his lips, cheeks, and overall _face_ before he gathers the strength to stare at Ouma again. "And it'll be like nothing that the others have ever seen."

"Yes," Ouma agrees. He grunts lowly as a thicker trail of blood escapes out of the side of his mouth. It doesn't help that he's totally drenched in sweat, dripping as his body shivers in what is most _definitely_ the last moments of his life. His bruise-like eyes contract in painful realization, and they turn up cloudy and dark—from what Momota can see, anyway.

He won't judge Ouma for anything he does right now. Ouma's earned that much, at least.

Momota affirms his resolve as he goes down to the hydraulic press, and lies on the slate surface beneath the top half. His trademark jacket lies beneath him, and his visage is clearly seen from the camera's awkward angle. As he adjusts himself to the best of his ability, he thinks that this position is nothing short of suffocating. Even though there is free space to the sides of him, there exists only a few feet of leeway between him and certain death. He can feel sweat build up on his forehead, the back of his neck, and in the palms of his hands as he lies down and rests.

He hates thinking about it, but there is a slight possibility that Ouma could snap and kill him like this, anyway. If that happens, then Momota would know a second too late before everything blacked out, or whited out, or whatever happened to someone as they died. The thought burns him and freezes him all at once, with his mind ablaze and his limbs glued in place. Now, he mulls over his actions thoughtfully, as if doing so will calm him down, somehow. Has he angered Ouma enough to make him act irregularly at this time? Is he a fool for trusting him at all, even in his dying moments? Is Momota about to _die_ right now?

"Pressing it," Ouma squeaks out. His words are getting shorter, slurrier, and harder to form. Momota can hear saliva muffle out the clarity of his sentences, as well as laborious breaths escape from his lips in frantic measures. He tries to remember how eloquent and well-spoken Ouma was just a few hours prior. Even when he faced Harukawa unarmed, he had complete composure.

It's all falling apart, now.

He tries not to think about the fraying wires that are holding the supreme leader together, those that are mere minutes away from snapping in half. "Okay," Momota calls out feebly, barely audible over his thundering fear. A true hero is courageous to a point, but perhaps it's more heroic to be honest and vulnerable, in some ways. Regardless, the hangar is so quiet that his words will not go unnoticed. What sounds like another squeak from Ouma resounds, and within seconds, the press starts up.

With the electronic signals jammed from Iruma's electro-bombs that Ouma used earlier, the safety mechanism on the press is disabled. Before, it would stop automatically when it senses the presence of organic life. But now, with the safety measure taken out, there's nothing stopping the press from turning either of the boys into mince meat.

The only issue now is _which one_ of the boys will perish first. The harrowing possibility of Ouma blindsiding Momota still exists, and the Ultimate Astronaut feels sickened just thinking about it. He also feels that time is passing by too slowly, because the press inches downward towards him, closer and closer still—so close that Momota wants to squirm his way out. So close that he's starting to regret trusting Ouma in the first place, and that he should have just died in the bathroom like he thought he was going to. So close that he's thinking about everything that's happened to him thus far: his grandparents, his friends, his aspirations to become a real astronaut. He thinks about the first class trial, then the second, the third, and recently, the fourth. He thinks about Monokuma and those stupid Monokids of his. He thinks about Harumaki, and her cute face when she pouts or looks off to the side, flustered. He thinks about Saihara, and how far he's come from being the bumbling sidekick to becoming the strongest detective— _person_ —he knows. He thinks about Ouma, and how Ouma's a step away from dying and maybe so is Momota, and maybe he's on the wrong side of the press, after all, and maybe he's about to _die_ and become the victim of the fifth trial and—

It stops.

Of course, it stops barely an inch away from Momota's body, but it _stops_ and leaves him completely unharmed. His breath exhales after having been kept inside for the longest time, and the sweat keeps rolling off his fully _intact_ body.

Momota sighs again, and squirms his way out of the press. As he stands, he can see Ouma hobbling over from his place at the control panel. He's top-naked, clutching his wounded arm and sniveling drool and blood all over himself. His eyes are murky, dazed, and wide like they might burst into tears at any given second. His usual smile is completely gone, with only an unsteady expression taking its place.

Ouma's jacket is removed, he sees, and it reveals the boy for his thin physique and _fragility._ He would have benefitted from the late-night training that Momota, Saihara, and Harukawa partook in earlier. He would have fit right in with their motley crew, if he hadn't been so insufferable and monstrous, first.

Momota thinks about all the "would have, could have, should have" scenarios as he takes the bloody, sodden, and damaged jacket from Ouma. The fabric is soiled and torn, and it makes him wonder how this singular piece of clothing could have completed the "Supreme Leader" image in the way that it did.

"H-How do I look?" Ouma struggles to say. There is a remnant of a smirk on his face, but the poison in his body makes the motion harder to form in completion, so it reads as a lopsided smile, at best. "Super hot, right?"

"The hottest," Momota agrees. He reaches forward, and removes a stray black-and-white thread from the other's shoulder with gentle movements. His fingers barely brush against Ouma's soft skin, and his fingertips wistfully graze Ouma's errant strands of purple hair.

There's something like hiraeth in him, now, and Momota feels flustered. He pulls his hand back, and tries not to look bothered by his own sentiment as he talks. "Do you need help getting into the, uh, press?"

"I think I can get into my own deathbed just fine, Momota-chan," Ouma insists softly. He walks towards the gap in the metal slabs, and squeezes in. Although it's still a tight fit, Ouma seems to have an inch or two more of space that Momota didn't. This makes all the difference as Ouma tries to lay down on the jacket beneath him, now, carefully moving so the sleeve would still be visible to the camera, but not so noticeably displaced, as far as any future viewers of the video may be concerned.

Momota walks back to the control panel with slow, deliberate steps. Then, he talks casually into the air. "What's your favorite kind of cookie, Ouma?"

"Raisin oatmeal," he answers proudly. "I love it when people mistake them for chocolate chip."

"Of course you do. I bet you also like natto, too."

"Yuck, no way," he admits. "But if it bothers you so much, I'd eat three whole bowls full of it."

"If you did that, I wouldn't be surprised."

"Then I won't do it," he says quietly, voice growing faint as the distance between them increases. "I...w-want to surprise you, Momo-chan."

Momota ascends the stairs to the elevated control panel, each step ringing dully in his ears. But he ignores the clatter of his own footsteps, and focuses on Ouma's last and dying words, instead. "You're always surprising me, Ouma. I'd never think of doing something like this all by myself. I wouldn't think of hiding in an Exisal or reading your handwritten script at the trial. Not at all."

"If you did, then you wouldn't be _you,_ Momo-chan."

He usually hates it when people call him Momo. Today, he doesn't mind so much, and Momota's fingers hesitate over the two switches. One to start up the video again, another to end a life. He gulps down some of the unending hesitation in his throat. "Guess not. Alright, I'm at the panel, Ouma. Anything else you wanna say before I do it?"

"Do I have time?"

"It's an hour or two that we have in total, right?"

"Right."

"I'd say you got a few good minutes left."

"Hmm." He remains silent for less than a minute before talking. "I hate this killing game. I never wanted this, Momo-chan."

"Yeah."

"I'm tired of seeing people die. I'm scared of dying, too."

"I—"

"I didn't want any of this to happen. Harukawa-chan is an idiot for barging in like that. I wouldn't have done anything to you, Momo-chan. I s-swear."

"..."

"I want to see Saihara-chan and the others, too. I want this stupid game to end. I want to rub it in Monokuma's face. Can we do that, huh? Can we rub it in his face? Can you get some blood on his robotic little cheek for me?"

"Probably not, but I can try."

"Scratch that, he'd kill you for coming near him."

"Damn, you're right."

"I'm right about most things. Except this."

"I'll take your word for it." Momota glances at a nearby clock. The second hand keeps ticking down, and in all honesty, he's forgotten how much time has passed. His hands are reluctant to move, however.

He doesn't want to do this.

But he has to.

"I wish things would have turned out differently," Momota cuts into the conversation with a thought of his own. "We wouldn't be doing this right now if it did."

"Someone else would have died, though. I'm not the intruder or the mastermind or anything, but whoever _is_ the mastermind has t-their goddamned work cut out for them…"

"Exactly."

"Momo-chan, I'm scared of dying."

"Me too, Ouma. I don't act it, but I'm terrified of the thought."

"Think about how _I_ feel, then. I'm literally about to die."

"I know. But don't be too sad about it. I'll be joining you at the end of this day, I think."

"Oh? You think they'll…" He pauses as another coughing fit overtakes him. Then he's quiet for a long time, and Momota's worried that he's missed the opportunity to kill him in place of Harukawa. But Ouma starts up again with heavy breaths, as if nothing happened.

Maybe nothing _did_ , but time's running out, regardless.

"You think they'll figure this out?"

"Saihara's on their side, so of course they will."

"Saihara-chan...hmm…"

"Don't think too hard about it. Listen, Ouma...I'm gonna start it soon."

"Okay."

"I'm going to kill you."

"Okay."

"I'm going to kill us both."

"Yes."

Momota clenches his hands into fists, and closes his eyes. "Here we go. This is it. Are you ready?"

"No," Ouma says truthfully. "Do it anyway."

"Alright. Goodbye, Ouma."

"Goodbye, Momo-chan. Momota-chan. Bye."

He slams his hand down on both buttons. The camera flickers on, and continues filming from its wondrously strange angle.

The hydraulic press hums back to life, as well, and starts moving down, down, down, down, _down,_ until—

"Goodbye," Momota says a few seconds after he successfully shuts off the video camera. The press is completely closed, and there is a wide radius of blood surrounding it. Everything is quiet, and the only noise that he can hear is that of his own ragged breathing, and the air conditioner running discreetly in the back of the room.

He drags himself out of his stupor, and stares with dreary, magenta eyes at the carnage before him. Before, his mind raced with all sorts of wild thoughts, but now everything is as silent and peaceful as it's ever been. He doesn't need to think about what will happen, because everything has been planned out in the worn-out notebook that Ouma left behind for him. He doesn't need to worry about hiding, because there is a dormant Exisal robot lying in the wings for him. He doesn't need to lament over his loss, because there's been too many occasions where the others have mourned for him.

Momota picks up the book, and strides down the stairs. He gives one last glance to the hydraulic press—eyes flickering to the gruesome scene of bloody _nothingness_ that is a new level of disturbing—before discarding Ouma's jacket (going into the toilet, which is a fitting end for the piece of shit that he is— _was_ ). Then he turns his attention to the Exisals, instead. He picks the nearest one, and climbs into the chamber before safely securing himself. No longer hindered by poison, his limbs move freely and easily, and he can only imagine what it must have been like for Ouma, whose body very nearly turned into lead before his death.

The hatch closes above him, and he starts up the Exisal. Knowing that the hidden camera system will start up again, Momota gets to moving, and the robot body follows his commands as he does so. He jumps out of the pit where the other Exisals lay, and heads for the designated area, where he'll wait until the next day, hiding until he can sneak into the class trial at night—hiding when the others inevitably investigate the hangar, and discover that murder is _still_ possible, even when it feels like they should have been doomed to live out the last of their living days in this floating death machine without further incident.

The talks have ended and the deed has been done. All that's left for Momota is the most excruciating process of it all—something that ranks second only to Ouma's actual death just now.

Because all Momota could do was sit there, and wait for the end to come.

And so he waits.

* * *

 **Maki Harukawa**

* * *

He shouldn't have wandered into the Ultimate Robot Lab. Sometimes, Kokichi lets his curiosity get the best of him, and this time it's _really_ worked against him.

Of course, he only thinks those things because he's currently _trapped_ in there. The sensors must have gone off at the wrong time, or Kiibo somehow tampered with the controls ( _unlikely_ , Ouma thinks, considering he hates the typical sci-fi nature of his own lab) to make this trap activate. He doesn't even have time to protest when the doors and windows are locked down, and the lights in the room dim to something dark and anxiety-inducing.

If that wasn't bad enough, Ouma Kokichi isn't _alone_ in his temporary imprisonment. He turns on his heels to see someone else standing there—someone who looks just as shocked and confused as he does—until they look at _his_ face and their confusion is replaced by _resentment_ as their face draws to a frown and their eyes burn with _hellish_ rage.

It's Harukawa Maki, of course.

Why _wouldn't_ it be her?

"Oh shit," he whispers under his breath. "Of course it had to be you."

"Ouma…" she sounds neutral at first, but her voice reeks of _hatred_ as she hisses out: "What the _hell_ did you just do?"

"Huh?"

"The lab is locked and we're trapped inside. Did you plan this?"

He laughs loudly. "Of course I planned this! Why _wouldn't_ I want to trap myself with the most dangerous person in this killing game? Why _wouldn't_ I want to be stuck with the Ultimate Assassin, of all people?"

She blinks, then says: "You're being sarcastic, aren't you."

"Harukawa-chan, you're as dumb as you are red."

At that point, he doesn't expect himself to live beyond that insult. He's dealing with a short-tempered assassin, after all. One that has killed many people _before_ this killing game started and whose hesitance in killing another Ultimate (except for him) does not and will never excuse such a fact. How the others are so smitten with her—that idiot Momota and the naive Saihara, especially—is something he'll never know. They'll paint _him_ all sorts of evil colors, but when it comes to Harukawa, she's as saintly as they can possibly make her out to be.

Are all saints covered in blood like she is? Do their eyes bleed as red as their victims' bodies like hers do? In that case, then _yes_ , she is _very_ saintly.

His embittered thoughts reverberate with his panicked heartbeat. This is the worst case scenario come true—Ouma being locked in a secluded room with Harukawa—and although there aren't any weapons in the Ultimate Robot Lab, she is sure to have a multitude of daggers or knives on her person. He glances to her black stockings, and vaguely wonders how many thin blades she has hidden in there, or if there's one resting in the soles of her shoes. Will she beat him to death first, or make the process slow and torturous, so his death is something rapturous and forthcoming?

His questions remain hanging in his mind. She takes a step forward, and Ouma tries to take one back. He expects that she'll rush up to him like she did at the end of the second trial, and grab his thin body by the scruff of his neck. He imagines that she'll close the distance between them with an ungodly amount of agility, breaking him in half before he can even scream.

When she raises a brow at him, and simply remains irritated but unmotivated to make any dangerous moves, he feels more than just confused.

He almost feels _wronged_.

"You're the dumb one, Ouma. You think I'm gonna kill you right now?"

"Uh, _yes?_ Isn't that literally what an assassin does? And we're not exactly besties, although that's because of your disagreeable personality more than anything."

"Shut up. Even if I _did_ kill you, I'd be trapped in here until Kiibo or someone else deactivated the trap. And when they see your corpse next to me, it won't be hard to figure out what happened."

He blinks once, twice, then gasps. "Harukawa-chan! You're totally _not_ being an idiot right now! Well, it looks like even the murderous maniac has thoughts of her own—"

"I would have killed you in seconds flat otherwise," she cuts in. "Don't mistake this for mercy, Ouma. You're just _lucky._ "

The budding feelings of hope and change deflate in his chest, but he isn't too sad about it. Why should he be, when this is the epitome of her egregious behavior? He expects something like this from her, so when she proves his theories to be correct, he's not even mad about it. Instead, he throws his arms behind his head, and arches back in a callous, sweeping motion.

"Well, lucky me, then!"

.

.

She hates him. She absolutely, definitely, and irreversibly hates him. Even when the small part of her that isn't just cold steel and spattered blood tries to redeem him, she comes up with nothing because Ouma is a big, fat, irredeemable piece of _shit._ Yes, even more so than her, there's very little of him worth saving. If she killed him, then the group would definitely benefit from it all. They'd be spared his riddles, jokes, and games alike—they'd be saved from his impossible logic and heartless insults. They might even have a chance of _truly_ coming together as a group, like what Akamatsu wanted them to do all those days ago.

All of that would be possible if he'd only just _die._ The fact that an opportunity to kill him has arisen and the fact that she can't _take_ that opportunity excites her and disappoints her all at once. Of course, she could disregard the easy trial that would come out of killing him _now,_ and just do it for the hell of it. She could take one for the team and snip the most poisonous flower at its base, cutting off any chance from spreading its infectious pollen and digging its rotten roots any further. Although she would be tightening her own life to suffocation with the plant's vines, if she could stop it from growing further, it might be worth it.

Then again, it might _not_ be. That idiot, Momota, is still on her case, spouting nonsense about workout nights with the reedy Saihara in tow. The three of them are some sort of trio, now, and disappointing them seems like a bad thing to do. Not that she would allow them to heavily affect her judgement or behavior, but going against their (annoyingly) good intentions and bringing them sadness through senseless murder...it just seems like more trouble than she should put herself through.

Which brings her to the present world, where she faces none other than Ouma Kokichi. _What a pain,_ she thinks. What an unbearable pain that for once, she can't remedy her troubles by killing someone. Of all people to be trapped in a locked lab with, it just _has_ to be him. She wonders if this is all a setup on his end, but his incessant denials are proof that this situation is out of his hands, too.

So the robotics lab is so high-tech that it malfunctioned? _What a joke_ , Harukawa bitterly thinks.

"Inconvenient," she mutters. "I'm going to figure all this out. But until then, don't mess around with me. Stay away from me if you want to live."

"Like _you_ could fix this mechanism by yourself," Ouma counters. "But, if you want to be oh-so cool and stoic, be my guest! After all, the only thing worse than this is dying of starvation or thirst." He leans forward, eyes leering with something playful even though the deadliest person in the game stands in front of him. She returns his intense stare with one of her own, crimson eyes alight with dreadful indignation.

Does he have a death wish, or what?

"If you're suggesting that I work with you, you're an even bigger fool than I thought," she snaps. "Go away."

"I can't go anywhere, y'know. We're trapped in here _together_."

"Shut up."

"It's true."

"Seriously, be quiet. You don't always have to talk."

" _Au contraire,_ Harukawa-chan! Talking over you is the only way that I can even tolerate your presence! I really hate killers, after all."

There's no annoyed rebuttal on her end, and she simply glares at him with that hardened expression she's known for having. It's the gaze of someone who has lived day and night, spattered with blood and hiding in the shadows. It's the look of someone who has seen terrible things that no other human being should have to see. As much as it irks Ouma to know, she has the same look that he does—the same look that _everyone else_ in this killing game has adopted since Akamatsu died.

It's a look of defeat and victory all at once.

It's a look of _desperation._

.

.

Hours pass, and nothing progresses. They investigate every holographic screen they can find, and test out all the various panels and hatches. There are several machines that they have no idea the use for—something that looks like a shuttle car, right next to a circular rise in the floor that looks like a teleportation pad but most certainly isn't. While interesting at first, the Ultimate Robot Lab is disappointing and monotonous shortly thereafter. The monochromatic scheme of bright blues, violets, and greens doesn't help, either, and both Ouma and Harukawa are getting tired of staring at the neon atmosphere around them.

Ouma's really thirsty, too, and he's sure that he can hear growling noises coming from Harukawa. She doesn't need to conceal the fact that she's hungry, but she clearly feels the need to do so since every time he glances at her, she makes it a point to turn her back on him. Then they continue their fidgeting in silence, hoping that either of them will press the "DISARM" button somewhere, and their predicament will end sooner than later.

Dying of thirst or hunger is starting to look like a halfway realistic option now.

"Dammit," Harukawa curses. She slams the palms of her hands against the cold, cylindrical, metallic chamber where nothing but blue light filters through. "Where the hell's the switch? Or the damn exit? There's gotta be a way…"

Yet every time she glances up, her burning red eyes lose a bit of their flames as she sees nothing but locked doors, laser security lines, and a brightly flashing red light at the main entrance. Clearly, Ouma's claim about Kiibo's infrequent appearances is true. Hours have gone by and the Ultimate Robot hasn't popped up once. What could he be doing at a time like this?

"Honestly, he's probably getting reamed by Iruma-chan," Ouma comments offhandedly. "Well, they'd call it ' _maintenance'_ —" he curls his fingers into air quotes and rolls his eyes— "but we all know what they're _really_ doing."

"I can't believe we might die because that idiot would rather hang out with Iruma," Harukawa adds in an annoyed voice. "I can't believe I've been stuck in the same room with you for over five hours. Maybe even six."

"There's an atomic clock on this control panel, here. It's been five hours, thirty four minutes, seventeen seconds, seven milliseconds—"

"Shut up," she snaps at him, for what must have been the umpteenth time that day. "Just _shut. Up."_

"Make me, you coward," he says in a low, taunting voice. "As long as I have breath in these lungs, I'll talk as much as I want to."

"You're _insufferable."_

"Says you."

"Says everyone, actually."

"Ah, yes, because everyone's proven themselves to be the brightest bunch there is! Like I care what anyone here thinks of me! What bothers me is what they think of _you._ I don't know what they could possibly see in you!"

"I don't know who you're talking about and I don't care."

"I mean Momota-chan and Saihara-chan, of course!"

"Don't you _dare_ say anything about them. They're not even involved in this mess right now."

"Which is so strange, because _you're_ at the core of this problem! They revere you _oh-so-much,_ that I'm surprised they're not busting down the walls to try and find you."

She leans against the wall, completely silent except for the shifting fabric of her clothes here and there. Her face is focused, her brows are drawn, and her mouth twitches before remaining locked in their usual appearance. All of this is detected as he observes like an onlooker to a fireworks show.

He's waiting for her to blow up. She really wants to, but perhaps it would be better to _not_ give into his curiosity.

Ouma continues to say: "Even if you kill me, they'd probably take your side."

"That says more about you than it does me."

"It says about the same for both of us."

"Stop talking already."

"No."

Their banter goes on like that for some time. He would never once think about the dangers that lie in conversing with someone like Harukawa, just as she would never think to be having a casual conversation with someone like Ouma. Since the beginning, she never wanted to be close to anyone, because she knows that her murderous nature and background will make her a target. She even went as far as to craft a second identity of being the Ultimate Child Caregiver, which didn't last long because of Ouma's persistence. Why is he so insistent on opposing her, anyway? Why does he continue to antagonize her, when he knows very well the limitations of her patience?

Maybe he _actually_ has a death wish, but Harukawa is in no position to be carrying out favors for him.

She reaffirms this resolve as she stares at him, shooting down every stupid comment of his with her bluntness. When will he learn that she doesn't care about him? She doesn't care about anyone else in this game, although she can't speak for Saihara and Momota, who are as chivalrous and understanding as Ouma makes them out to be. His concerns from earlier bring up a good point, too. Why _haven't_ they found her, by now? Isn't it getting late? Around this time is when they go out and exercise together, so what's going on?

Not that she _needs_ the physical training, in the first place, since she's stronger than both Momota and Saihara _combined_ , but it _is_ their nightly routine. And besides, it's the thought that counts.

Her stomach growls again, and she draws her knees close to her chest to stifle their hungry whines.

Ouma notices this and gives her a hard time, as always. "I told you we'd die by starvation. Well, starvation happens after a few days of not eating, right? So we should be fine for now."

"...I haven't eaten since before yesterday," she admits. There is no tone of pity or guilt in her voice, however. She simply recites a true statement about her life at the moment. "So I'm well on my way."

"Wait, why?"

"None of your business. But if you haven't drinken water all day, you'll probably die before I do."

He doesn't respond to her comments, as he's seemingly lost in thought. He frowns ever-so-slightly, and his brows draw together in tiny movements. Most noticeable are his eyes, and the way they change from airy and empty to something deep and introspective, like the ocean glowing underneath a sunset.

They shine more brightly when he comes to a realization. "Harukawa-chan, you never show up to dinner when we're supposed to. You only go to breakfast, or so I've noticed."

"Whatever."

"It's because Toujou-chan was executed, huh? She used to bring you food since you guarded your lab all day and night before everyone knew you were an assassin."

"Shut up."

"No, seriously, you haven't eaten since almost two, maybe even three days ago? You're still not guarding your lab, right?"

"Not as intensely, but it doesn't matter."

"You realize that everyone's too scared of you to try and kill you, right? You can eat dinner with the rest of us just fine."

"Why are you suddenly concerned about me?"

"It's because I'm concerned about _me_ , too. I'm thirsty as hell." He doesn't sound like someone that's in desperate need of water, but there is an underlying _scratchiness_ to his voice that must be a result of thirst. He claws at his neck thoughtlessly, although Harukawa is sure that the action is to satiate whatever urge is hidden beneath the skin. "I didn't think we'd be in here this long. I didn't drink anything since yesterday, either. I planned on scoping this place out and grabbing some juice, and that's it."

"Then, at this rate…"

"We'd probably die of natural starvation and thirst at the same time. That is, if Kiibaby doesn't rear his ugly face in here soon enough."

"..."

She goes silent for a moment. Of all situations Harukawa thought herself to be in, trapped in the Ultimate Robot Lab with Ouma is the last of them she'd expect. Trapped _anywhere_ with him has always been improbable, given the fact that she avoids him whenever she can—a feeling which appears to be mutual between the two of them.

Mutual feelings? Between her and Ouma? She hates the thought, but it's a reality come true before her eyes. They're sitting across from each other now, her against a wall and him curled up by one of the large mechanisms. The glow of neon lights drown them in shine, but the looks on their faces are cast in _shadows._

Perhaps this is punishment for her crimes, after all. The starvation is merely a side-punishment to the main one, which is to suffer indefinitely in a close proximity to Ouma himself. Feeling a bit lightheaded, she buries her face and wraps her arms around her legs. Then she closes her eyes, and finds relief in the darkness—or just in anything that isn't the techno-glow of their surroundings. Ouma is a faraway worry in her mind, now, because even in her sleep, she knows he can't beat her.

Even in defeat, he'll never win over her.

Never.

.

.

She awakens to find herself in the same place as before. Sitting upright is a pain and her back aches dully. Harukawa moves to rectify the awkward position, grunting lowly as noisy cracks resound through her spine and joints—her entire body chorusing with physical reminders that she _slept for too long._

And to top it all off, her annoying companion is nowhere in sight. At first she wonders if he had escaped somehow, but then it occurs to her that their inspections from before were too thorough for them to have overlooked anything. There isn't a single aspect in the Ultimate Robot Lab that Ouma knows more than Harukawa knows, and vice versa, so there's no _way_ he left this place before she did.

Still, it's too quiet, for once, and Harukawa feels unsettled. She moves quickly, glancing around for the nasty boy in question.

She sees the stairs that lead to the second story of the lab, although they checked before and found nothing but several high-rise walkways and a few supply rooms. Although the word "supply" is a questionable descriptor, at best, since there's nothing like food or water in there. All they found was a single bathroom, and multiple rooms filled with computers, wires, control boxes, and more wires, after that. There was a keypad in one of the rooms, and they tried cracking the code but came up with nothing, so it's meaningless to them now as it was before.

 _Where's Ouma, though?_ Her steps start to sound repetitive as she hurriedly searches for him. Kiibo's domain isn't large enough to get lost in, so what gives? Did he really leave, or is he in hiding, for whatever odd reason? Maybe it's the bright lights blinding her, but it seems so hard to navigate the space suddenly, she wonders if he someone _did_ something to her whilst asleep. Even though she's a light sleeper and has great reflexes, she isn't _perfect_ so there's still some chance that she could be tampered with in such a vulnerable position.

Those worries leave her mind, however, as Harukawa enters the last supply room, and sees Ouma standing there. He's still alive, and clearly moving, but his back is turned against her. Immediately, her instincts tell her to be cautious, and she readies herself in case a fight breaks out between them.

Oh, what an amazingly short fight that would be.

"Ouma," she says cautiously, hesitant in saying his name any more than she has to. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to find us food or water," he merely answers. He looks back at her, and his face has an exasperated expression but he doesn't look worse for wear— _yet_. He must be _really_ thirsty now, though. "Look."

She glances around. This room is more bare than the others, with a few cabinets that have already been opened. There is no sign of food or water, but there _is_ something that's marginally more interesting than anything else has been before.

One of the cabinets seems to have moved since they last saw it, and behind it on the wall is a large, red button in a glass case. There is only one word plastered on top of it for an explanation, and it stares Ouma and Harukawa starkly in the face.

 _Emergency._

"What kind of emergency?" Harukawa mumbles beneath her breath. "And why is this hidden back here?"

"I don't know," Ouma admits. "But I think we should press it. This is pretty much an emergency on its own."

"We don't even know what this thing _does._ "

"So? If Kiibaby doesn't show up anytime soon, we're as good as dead, anyway."

"..."

She's thinking that she should just shut him down now, because nothing good can come out of his schemes. Even if they're both in a tight spot right now, messing around with things beyond their understanding would only hinder this situation, rather than help it. They would be better off leaving the "Emergency" button alone, and just idly waiting for Kiibo to return—or, if he didn't come back soon enough for their liking, they would try looking over the lab a second time for their escape route.

The third option would be to remain here and die, but she would sooner take her own life than let something as embarrassing as _that_ happen to her.

Before she can say anything, though, Ouma presses the button. It must have been the undeniable hunger settling over her, but she's a few seconds too slow to react as he finalizes their fates with a single motion. A _clicking_ noise resounds, and for a few seconds, nothing happens. The anger that builds up in her chest vaporizes all at once, and she is glad that his stupid little plot didn't work out.

Or that's what _seemed_ to happen, anyway. A few seconds after that feeling subsides, the entire lab starts shaking. The floor beneath them, the walls around them, the objects laid against the walls and built into the floors—everything starts to tremble and move before their very eyes. One of the shelves topples over, and the sound of endless cables, metals, and devices toppling over sounds very reminiscent of glass breaking.

Of their _world_ breaking.

Ouma and Harukawa don't exchange any more glances or words. They're both very quick to dodge the falling objects, and dash out of the supply room as fast as they can. Harukawa nearly slams into the second story railing outside their door, but Ouma slams into her, panicked, and makes that imagined collision a reality.

She just has time to make out the trembling scene of the Ultimate Robot Lab: black, green, blue, and _red_ all over, as hazard lights flash and a loud voice echoes "WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!" over and over again. She just has time to see the shaking panels and flickering screen, the tumbling noises of supplies being knocked off of cabinets and cables unplugging from various sockets and walls. She has time to see all of this, before the force of Ouma's unintentional ( _or did he mean it, after all?_ ) impact sends her scrambling over the second floor railing.

Everything is a blur of colors as she falls (she hears a shout of "Harukawa-chan!" above her, so maybe it wasn't intentional after all), but after the initial shock wears off, she quickly reaches out, and grabs a metal fixture sticking out from the underside of the platform.

It turns out that it's an emergency ladder ( _but under the stairs,_ she thinks to herself, _why?_ ) and it extends as she grabs onto it, click-click- _clicking_ with each rung that's revealed from its hidden compartment. She plants her feet on the bottom rung, and clings onto the sides as it unfolds.

The bottom half of the ladder reaches the ground, and Harukawa can see Ouma dashing down the stairs, right in time to see her dismount the ladder without a scratch. "Whoa! Talk about reflexes! I guess that's why—"

" _Countdown until self-destruction: activated,"_ the overhead voice announces in a deadpan. " _One minute. Fifty nine-seconds. Fifty-eight seconds. Fifty seven seconds..."_

"You're a goddamn idiot," Harukawa snaps. "First, you cause all this, then you run into me? You really _did_ wanna die."

"No I didn't!" Ouma insists. " _You're_ the one that was too slow and too _scared_ to even do anything. Sleeping on the job, Harumaki? That's unlike you!"

"Do _not_ call me 'Harumaki'," she sneers. "Now look, we're about to blow up 'cause of you. Any last words?"

" _Thirty-nine seconds, thirty-eight seconds, thirty-seven seconds…"_

"Let's head to the front. If we die, we can at least die by the exit in case it decides to malfunction in our last seconds of life."

"Hurry up, then."

They make a mad dash towards the locked up entrance. The shutters are still closed, and the red lights are only more intense as a siren flashes sporadically above their heads. Both of them can make out a message on one of the monitors, which reads out: _Disable self-destruction mode? Voiced activated answers: YES or NO._

Their reactions are equally hopeful as they are disparate. They glance at each other for a second—a mere _second_ —before bringing their attention back to the monitor, and shouting at the top of their lungs.

"YES!"

And in the background, drowned out in their cacophony, is the countdown. _Twenty-three seconds, twenty-two seconds, twenty-one seconds…_

"Dammit, it probably only works for Kiibaby."

"Well, so much for that."

"Bye Harumaki. I'll see you on the other side."

"You're an idiot if you think we're going to the same place."

Ouma laughs as he throws his back against the closed shutters, body slumped downwards in defeat. "People like you and me belong in the same place."

" _Ten seconds, nine seconds, eight seconds…"_

Harukawa closes her eyes, and leans against the shutters with a sigh. She doesn't look angry, for once.

"We belong in _hell._ "

" _Five seconds, four seconds, three seconds…"_

She doesn't say anything; he takes a deep breath and holds it.

 _Two. One._

Everything goes white.

.

.

Ouma opens his eyes. He doesn't do anything else. Normally, even the most trivial actions are accompanied by his tendency to overthink and analyze the situation around him. On any other day, Ouma would open his eyes and joke to himself _Aw, I'm still alive?_ or _Which layer of the Matrix is this?_ Only this time, there's nothing remotely close to any of those thoughts.

In fact, there are no thoughts _at all._

His head rings, and the sound resonates and _remains,_ like a gong or a bell that doesn't disappear even after it stops vibrating. Like a school routine, a few notes on a metal surface is all it takes for the students to move like clockwork. For them to be rounded up in classrooms like they're cattle, or to be whipped and shaped into desirable forms like an artist's marble.

All Ouma can see is a blinding _whiteness,_ and a hazy outline above him. Inky and dark, like someone's fingers that smear lead pencil on their paper after erasing mistaken lines. Smudged, bleak, weary—he blinks at least a dozen times as his eyes start to adjust.

It's Kiibo.

"Ouma-kun! Ouma-kun!"

"Leave him," another voice scolds. "Let him die."

"H-Harukawa-san, you can't say things like that! Ouma is our classmate, too, right? So we have to—"

"Kiibaby...is that really Harukawa-chan I hear?"

"Ouma-kun!" Kiibo almost cries out of relief, and he throws himself onto his side like a homemaker in denial. "You're okay! Yes, yes, it's true! You and Harukawa-san are fine now. My lab is too technical that sometimes, it goes into self-destruct mode. I deactivated from the outside, but the explosion still went off. Thank goodness that the two of you came out of it okay, though, I don't know what I'd do if—"

"So, long story short, I'm alive?"

"Uh, yes."

"And Harukawa-chan is alive, too?"

"She is. She's standing right here, uh, glaring at you."

"Kiibo."

"Yes?"

Ouma's chest (and pride) deflates as he sinks further into the grass, and covers his face with one arm alongside a melodramatic sigh.

"You should have let us blow up."

"Ouma-kun!"

"I agree."

"Harukawa-san, not you too! Listen, you guys shouldn't be like this...we should all be friends…"

The words around Ouma melt into each other, and when he closes his eyes against the world, he can barely differentiate between the annoying, soulless machine and Kiibo. But as the sounds continue to cadence around him, he can't help but smile at the thought of it all.

She doesn't sound too angry, for once in her life.

* * *

 **Shuuichi Saihara**

* * *

"Hey, Saihara-chan. Do you want to team up with _me_ this time around?" Ouma asks. Of course, his insufferable grin is half as annoying than usual, since he currently looks like a cute pixelated version of his usual self. Leave it to him to confront Saihara at the end of their virtual world escapades, cornering the detective right as he's about to leave. That's the least of his antics, but Saihara feels incredibly annoyed, nonetheless.

His mind works in odd ways. That's a statement that could apply to the both of them, actually. For Saihara, everything is a bit like clockwork. Everything has a reason and a function, both of which happen simultaneously and within the same time frame from each other. People are like minutes on the clock: they are the same every time, yet they change invariably, and the difference between them is so tiny yet so important all the same. A lot can happen in two minutes in the same way that nothing can happen for hours on end. And when he notices these patterns—when he sees the details that everyone else tend to overlook—he can't help but feel burdened.

Also, Ouma is _super_ annoying. Although that much is a given.

"...You know what, Ouma-kun?" Saihara puts down the phone, and lays to rest the receiver in the main room that's used to log everyone out and in. The sound the phone makes as it goes back into the cradle is sharp and sudden, enough to make chills run up Ouma's spine.

His pixels are visually unaffected by it, thankfully enough. Saihara steps closer to him.

"If it makes you stop bothering the others, then _yes,_ you can help me this time."

"Oh, Saihara-chan!" Ouma gasps as he places a blocky hand on his chest. "Do you adore me that much? I was expecting that you'd put up some resistance, but to see that you agreed so easily! Why, I could just—"

"—let me ask this." Saihara's eyes narrow, but not to the point of hatred. He's analyzing Ouma, just as he does anything (and everything) else in his life. "Why are you assuming that someone is dead?"

The smile on the supreme leader's face is unwavering. Saihara wills it to fall while he adds, "All we know is that Iruma-san and the others are experiencing weird things from this virtual world. So why do you want to go with me like it's an investigation? Nothing's happened yet, as far as _I_ can tell. What do you know, Ouma-kun?"

The Saihara from before wouldn't be this brave. If anything, he would have asked "What do you know that I don't?" or "Do you want to tell me something about this?" He would have hesitated to cross barriers, to go beyond boundaries that were restricted for the likes of him. But time has passed since then, and that boy from before—the one that couldn't hold onto anything: his pride, his appearance, the hand of his dearest _friend_ as she was ripped away from them like a feather plucked from a plume—would never be able to look at the Ultimate Supreme Leader in the eye and question him as he did just now.

He would never stand up against what seemed to be an equally intelligent and inquisitive mind, in fear of losing or getting hurt. But Saihara has grown since then. He's not the same boy as he was before. And Ouma must have noticed this, too, because as much as loathes it, his smile dampens _ever-so-slightly._

Saihara has to resist the urge to smirk.

"Well, well, well...I never thought that you'd be the forceful type, too, Saihara-chan."

"O-Ouma-kun?" Old habits die hard as Saihara's natural nervousness rises up from within. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing, I'm just impressed by your keen observation skills, as usual!" Ouma jumps cheerfully, which is an action utterly amplified in cuteness due to this virtual world. If Saihara didn't see the charm in Iruma's invention before, he could certainly get behind it now.

The embarrassing thought is smothered and laid to rest as soon as it rises in his mind.

"The others are waiting for us," Saihara reminds him. "My answer is 'yes', so let's not waste any more time than we need to."

"Gotcha! This is Ouma Kokichi, signing off!" Ever the obedient servant, Ouma hops over to the telephone, picks up the cradle, presses it to his ear, and takes a deep breath.

"OUMA KOKICHI, BITCH!"

His voice waves are almost visible as he shouts into the phone, and for a moment, Saihara doesn't think that anything will happen. Then, within seconds, Ouma's pixelated form lights up, and disappears into tiny specks of dust and color before Saihara's very eyes.

When the boy is out of sight, Saihara sighs to himself, and walks over to the telephone. His hand clutches the phone, but he doesn't pick it up. Not yet. He closes his eyes, and thinks about Iruma. He knows that Kiibo and Harukawa saw her for most of the day. He knows that he himself was with Shirogane and Momota (the latter who disappeared ahead of time, another matter that Saihara had to look into if his dark suspicion was right) up to now. He knows that Ouma and Gonta were off doing their own thing, too.

He knows all of this, yet even without witnessing anything, he knows that someone is dead.

Someone is dead, Ouma knows more about this than he lets on, and Saihara has to be the one to separate everything into their rightful place. The world is clockwork, and he is but a time interpreter, watching the seconds tick away, watching the minutes fall down, watching everything dwindle into nothing and fall into their predestined slots.

Teaming up with Ouma would be a new experience; it would be another obstacle blocking the grand scheme of things. Yet, if they are to get any closer to the truth of this killing game and their circumstances—if they are to avenge their fallen friends and prevent further tragedy—then they would have to plow through as they have always done.

With this resolve reaffirming itself in Saihara's mind, he takes another deep breath, and picks up the phone in a swift movement. "Saihara Shuuichi," he announces into the receiver. Even though no one is around to hear it, it's the smoothest and steadiest his voice has ever been, and it's the first time he's said his own name with such vigor and life.

As the world fades away from Saihara's view, he thinks it's just as well.

Nothing good ever comes out of being around him.

Not yet, anyway.

.

.

When Saihara logs out of the virtual world and clocks back into the real one, his worst fears have come to life before him. It takes a while for him to realize this, because the helmet is bulky and the wires are difficult to set aside. He remembers the importance of having the correct wires connected in the right spots, and double checks his own to make sure his virtual experience wasn't corrupted in any way.

After confirming his setup is correct, Saihara looks ahead and takes in the scene.

Iruma Miu, the Ultimate Inventor, is _dead_. And just as she was in life, she appears bright and expressive. The way her eyes bug out slightly, the way her mouth hangs open in horror, the way her hands are clawed at her neck for relief but have none—all of it amounts to a singular, prevalent word that resounds throughout Saihara's head.

 _Dead, dead, dead._

 _Iruma Miu is dead._

 _It looks like asphyxiation, but I should check the Monokuma File just to make sure._

As he thinks all of this, he can hear the screams and the terror of those around him. His own sympathy matches theirs in perfect tandem.

"Iruma! Iruma's dead!"

"What the fuck?! What happened to her?"

"Gonta doesn't understand...we were in the virtual world, yes? So why is Iruma-san dead?"

"One of you actually killed her, huh…?"

"B-But we were just with her! I know her model stopped moving and everything, but I didn't think that—"

"Sigh. Looks like you and I are the only ones with our heads on straight, huh, Saihara-chan?"

He looks away from Iruma's body and the others to make eye contact with Ouma. That is to say, even though Saihara towers over the supreme leader in height, he still feels uneasy when staring at him head-on. It's as if there are no weaknesses in Ouma's world, nothing that can truly break him down. It feels as if _he_ is the one towering over _Saihara._

The detective gulps his anxiety down his throat like unwilling medicine before responding to the equally bitter words. "Speak for yourself. Iruma-san didn't deserve to die like that."

"Uh, don't assume things." Ouma rolls his eyes, and gestures wildly to the corpse seated upright in the chair. "Maybe if she wasn't such a _bitch,_ she'd still be alive, huh?"

"Ouma-kun!" Saihara snaps. "If you're going to talk badly about her, or anything regarding this situation, then I'll be perfectly fine working on my own."

"Pfft, that's all you got, Saihara-chan? Empty threats? Oh, please, I know you need my testimony, too! Plus there's a lot of decoding in this case, literally _and_ figuratively. Still think you can do it alone?"

Annoyed, Saihara glances away from Ouma, and finds himself staring at Momota and Harukawa, who are talking to each other. When they notice Saihara and his new unsavory partner, they look _extremely_ worried. There is an unspoken message between the three of them. It's as if the two of them are chaperones who want to make sure their little boy's prom night goes well. Saihara fights the urge to roll his eyes, and sighs deeply, for what feels like the umpteenth time that day.

This is going to be difficult.

.

.

"Is Ouma bothering you?" Momota asks. "I'll tell that little shit to get lost if he is."

"Why are you even working with Ouma, anyway?" Harukawa adds on. "He won't be helpful in a situation like this."

"It's complicated," Saihara reassures them. "But I have everything under control. Besides, it might be better this way, since I can keep an eye on Ouma-kun in case anything bad happens…"

"Well, I trust you, so you can go ahead and do what you want." Momota places one hand on his hip, and averts his gaze from one of his most trusted friends, out of awkwardness more than out of caution. "Since you're here, I guess I should tell you what I know, huh?"

"Right," Saihara agrees. "You logged out early, Momota-san. I checked the log entry, and you left before anyone else did. What happened?"

"That's the thing," he mumbles. "I _don't_ know what happened. One minute I'm exploring the rooftop, the next, I'm being logged out. I didn't have control of it, either."

"So what did you do after you logged out?"

"..."

"Momota-san?"

"I went to my room and I took a nap," Momota says, deadpanned. "Iruma was still alive then, I promise."

"Hmm…"

"That makes you look suspicious, idiot." Harukawa runs nervous hands through a twin-tail of hair, before looking up back at the suspect in question. "You should have just stayed put. You could have stopped Iruma from dying, or something."

"As if," he murmurs. "If I could have done that, well, she'd still be alive, wouldn't she?"

"Saihara-chan!" Ouma's voice calls out for him. He's waiting by the core machine, alongside a dejected Monotaro, who is in disbelief that his precious "mother" is now dead. "We've got a situation over here! Stop messing around and be _helpful_ for once, yeah?"

"I'm going to kill him," Harukawa growled. She stepped forward, right into the arms of Momota and Saihara, who both seem to be against such a thing. "What are you doing? Get out of my way."

"Just ignore Ouma-kun for now," Saihara advises. He laughs quietly, and takes a step back from his friends. "I'll handle him during this investigation, okay? Don't worry about it."

"Fine," Harukawa mumbles. "C'mon, Momota. Let's look over here."

"Gotcha."

At once, the three of them seperate, leaving Saihara to himself in the middle of a crowded room. Well, actually, it's _less_ crowded than usual. Metallic eyes scan the surroundings, and the mind behind them quickly remembers past scenes. The escape route with Kaede taking charge, the dangerous traps that awaited them at every step. The cafeteria the morning after the first execution, the moment Saihara found the strength to look people in the eye again. The Insect Meet & Greet, a swarm of flies and beetles and a chorus of half-hearted, half-happy screams. Then there was the courtyard outside, always housing late-night talks and training sessions. The expansive second world that Iruma used all her might and intellect towards, the same place she inevitably met her end.

As time went on, these crowded places lost their bustle and hustle, and one-by-one the Ultimate Students lost their lives. Escape was almost in their grasp, yet just like everything else up to now, it was taken away from them, ripped to shreds before their very eyes. Amami, Akamatsu, Hoshi, Toujou, Angie, Chabashira, Shinguuji, and now Iruma...how many of them needed to die until they could finally escape this madness?

And why did Ouma never seem bothered by it all? Saihara could be a bit moody, himself, and it didn't help that he was depressed and anxious to high degrees. But even so, he noticed that ever since the beginning, Ouma was always a negative force. He never spoke out against him before, but the supreme leader gave Akamatsu-san a troubling time when she was still alive, and if there was anyone that hated the idea of banding together to end the killing game, it was Ouma.

Why was he like that? And why did he find such joy in the disparity the students faced? Although he offered, in some odd way, to make amends with Saihara by being his "sidekick" during this investigation, the fact of the matter was that Ouma Kokichi was a dangerous person, and he didn't do things just for fun.

Or, not _all_ things, anyway. Even as they talked, played games, or discussed the next move, Saihara couldn't get a read on him. Was everything a lie, as Ouma said, or was he disarmingly honest in ways that no one could anticipate? In Iruma's case in particular, he seemed to know more than he was letting on, so why bother playing the role of helper when he could just divulge everything he knew?

Why put up with such formalities?

The more Saihara thought about it, the more his head hurt. Although he would be lying if he said he wasn't interested in Ouma in the least. As a detective and as a _person,_ Saihara was naturally curious and thoughtful, but when enigmas like the gremlin Kokichi came along, he couldn't help wanting to figure out every little thing about him.

"Saihara-chan, looks like Monotaro wants to talk to us," Ouma pointed out. The little red bear was downcast, still, and lacking the usual cheer that these Monokubs tended to have. Saihara wished he felt bad for it, but he cared more about bringing Iruma's murderer to justice than anything else. "Should we hear what he has to say?"

"Yes," Saihara agreed. "Having one of them on our side, even temporarily, is important." He glanced from the bear to the supreme leader, and hefted out a sigh. "Although, I think hearing _your_ testimony is more important in this case."

"Saihara-chan, Saihara-chan," Ouma scolded. "C'mon, don't you know me better by now? Good things come to those who wait, y'know."

"C-Can I tell you about Mommy now? Or at least her program? I miss her so much…" Monotaro wailed. "Monodam and the others are also…will I be next?"

Playing therapist to a robotic killing machine wasn't on Saihara's list of things to do today, but neither was teaming up with _Ouma,_ of all people, either. He ran a hand through his hair (still remembering the weight of a hat that used to sit on his head), and thought through it all.

He could handle Ouma, surely enough. It was the bear that proved itself to be an obstacle.

Baby steps, he reminded himself. Take things in stride.

"Tell us more about Iruma's virtual world, Monotaro-kun." Saihara smiled gently. "I'm sure she won't mind you spilling the beans."

.

.

"Soooo...she messed up with the logout times? And it looks like she might have manipulated Momota-chan's avatar in some way," Ouma hummed. "And me, too! Gasp! How could she be so nefarious, Saihara-chan? Why, it's almost like—"

"—she had plans of her own," Saihara finished suddenly. "Her actions and behavior didn't align with someone that was simply a victim. Iruma-san was more than just a helpless damsel in distress, too. So there's no way she could've…"

"See? It's all starting to come together, right? Aren't you just so glad that I'm here to help you?" He sat cross-legged on the counter of one of the machines, face plastered with a smile so bright that it hurt to look at.

Saihara used every ounce of willpower to not show his disdain. The result was a frown that was a little too pronounced for his liking.

Ouma smirked. "Of course, you're the Ultimate Detective, so you probably didn't even need my help to begin with, huh?"

The expected answer was _of course._ Because, _of course_ the Ultimate Detective could solve a case on his own. In fact, that's exactly what he did to earn the title in the first place (no matter how much he denied such a thing), so having the assistance of someone else was a formality put in place by the circumstances of the killing game. Not to mention that Ouma Kokichi, Ultimate Supreme Leader, was too unhinged to be left unchecked.

The answer was simple, expected.

Saihara always had a way to disprove that. "Not really," he insisted. "No, I think having you around was rather helpful, after all."

Ouma smiled widely, and it was almost a perfect representation of his true feelings at the moment. "Really? You mean that?"

"I'm not the type to just say things with no meaning," Saihara mumbled. "Surely you agree."

"Well, _yeah,_ but I just didn't think you'd give in so easily." He clasped his hands together, and fluttered his eyelashes way too many times for Saihara's liking. "Aw, did Saihara-chan fall in love with me? Is that why he agreed so easily? I didn't think you were so _romantic,_ y'know."

"You wish," he muttered. "No, it's just...you're obviously involved in all of this. Even though you were with Gonta-kun, he doesn't seem to remember anything that happened in the virtual world."

"Or he's just feigning innocence," Ouma countered. "But everyone is involved in one way or another. Even your precious friends, Harukawa-chan and Momota-chan are suspicious. I guess one is more suspicious than the other, but I digress." He shrugged, and brought his hands back to his sides. Then he leaned forward, hand rested beneath his chin, violet eyes alive and pulsating with reckless thoughts that could tear a weaker heart in two.

Saihara felt his own heartbeat thrum in discordance.

Ouma spoke. "I'll be honest, for once, Saihara-chan. You really don't need those two idiots. If you wanted, you and I could make a perma-team together, and we'd stop the killing game in its tracks. 'Sides, you're way more fun than the rest of these idiots are, even if you're a kilogram too naive where it counts."

"..."

"Just be my friend, Saihara-chan, and no one else's. I promise it'll be good for you."

"Ouma-kun…"

Silence. Ouma was so close to Saihara, now, leering down at him with such an intense gaze that Saihara felt his willpower crumbling to bits. He was momentarily taller than Saihara, but the height difference was always prevalent, even if the detective overshadowed the supreme leader any day of the week. There was a great difference between the two, and it was _palpable_ as Kokichi's aura was strong and unwavering, oozing forth like a violent miasma that wanted to devour everything in sight.

Saihara almost whimpered. "Ouma-kun, I—"

"Just kidding!" Ouma cheered. He laughed loudly as he kicked back, arms spread behind his back, smile so wide that Saihara felt his _own_ cheeks ache in sorrow. "I was clearly _lying,_ Saihara-chan. If you like being idiot friends with idiot Momota and _murderer_ Harukawa, well, I can't stop you now, can I? Even if I beg or whine, Saihara-chan does what he wants at the end of the day."

"That's…"

"And how nice of you to even consider that. Although if the answer was going to be 'no', I wish you didn't humor me in the first place." He sounded sad, but Saihara knew better than to take Ouma's _sadness_ at face value. The way he could produce tears at a moment's notice was unnatural and overly practiced.

Still, his chest felt hollow as if it were real. How unfair.

"Sorry, Ouma-kun," Saihara muttered. "I agreed to let you help, but don't be mistaken. I'm going to end the killing game in my own way. I don't need your twisted schemes to do that."

"...Is that so?"

"Yes. Very much so."

"Well, well, well. Looks like you lost a hat and grew a spine: who knew?" Ouma laughed bitterly, and threw himself off of the counter with a fluid motion. Back at his original height, he was nothing but a child compared to the tall and spindly Saihara, even though his wit and intelligence were equally matched.

He glared up at Saihara, with acrid eyes and a vengeful smile that could have stopped a weaker person.

But Saihara wasn't so feeble. Not anymore, at least.

"You'll regret that. You and everyone else will realize what it means to be blind this whole time."

"Don't throw a tantrum just 'cause you didn't get what you wanted," Saihara scolded. "It's your fault that things turned out this way."

"No, it's actually _your_ fault."

"H-Huh?"

"You've made your choice, Saihara-chan. And the investigation time is almost over, so our partnership has come to an end. But let me make myself clear." He walked forward with a passion, and gripped the collar of Saihara's shirt so tightly, that the detective almost squealed at the motion. With a firm hand, he brought down the collar—and Saihara along with it—until they were eye-level, and Saihara could see the darkness in Ouma's purple eyes.

He saw the vitriol swirling within like poison.

He inhaled reluctantly.

"I'll take all the fun away from you. All the guesswork, all the thoughts, all the possibilities...I'm going to show you the _truth,_ and you're just going to accept it because I'm tired of you stealing the show. I'm tired of you acting like you know what this game is all about, when you and the others don't know _anything_ at all. And when I'm done, you're going to regret not being by my side."

"If this is me being against you, I don't want to know what being beside you is like, either," Saihara whispered. His lips curled up into a pathetic smile. "Sorry, Ouma-kun. I guess in the end we're just not compatible."

His grip loosened, and Kokichi withdrew his hands in a flurry. Shuuichi reached up, and tried to fix the wrinkles that formed from the clutched fabric. Before he could do that, though, Kokichi stood on his tip toes again, and whispered into his ear.

"I'll miss you, Saihara-chan. I'll miss this kind of interaction we had."

"What do you—"

"See you on the other side."

Then, as if on cue, Monokuma announced that the time for investigation was over, and everyone had to assemble in the courtyard to carry out the trial. There were tears and uncertainty amidst the students—Gonta swearing that he'll find Iruma's killer, Harukawa and Momota whispering among themselves—as no one was satisfied with the current outcome. They were steps away from obtaining a virtual world, and now they were down a student and a _friend,_ and were forced to pit against each other in a cruel courtroom.

But Saihara was ready for all of it. It was his talent, his job, his _obligation_ to see this through. And if anything, the conflict already started: Kokichi Ouma threw down the gauntlet, and the challenge sat right in front of his face. It was clear that the two of them could never agree, but was he wrong about their potential partnership being a missed opportunity? Was it still possible to make amends, even when Saihara felt that Ouma was beyond reconciliation?

Those thoughts swirled in Saihara's head like fog, and as he descended into the elevator, only one thing was for sure.

Ouma Kokichi was a mystery that refused to be unraveled.

Saihara Shuuichi wanted nothing more than for him to fall apart.


End file.
